


Cascading Chaos

by impish_nature



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Pre-Weirdmageddon, broken bridges, trapped together because of the weather, warnings: nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: A storm hits Gravity Falls, but just like everything else in the strange little town-It's never just a storm.And it's never quite that simple.Ford only hopes that with all the revelations it brings, their little family can weather it.





	Cascading Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> Another commission, an idea that really, really grabbed me <3 (warnings for nightmares, panic attacks, intrusive thoughts, bad memories, paranoia) I promise even with all the warnings that there is comfort as well, its just a rollercoaster ride because of the storm.

_"A severe weather warning has been issued for Gravity Falls-"_

"No kidding." 

The news on the TV was blaring from where Ford stood out on the porch, eyes glued to sky as he watched the canvas of grey grow darker and darker, circling at a point far above the trees on the horizon. He knew it wouldn't be long now, the billowing clouds growing denser, larger as the wind began to howl, rattling through the window panes like an angry, unwelcome guest. There was a flash of white in amongst the gloom, lightning already flickering high above, in amongst the abyss like clouds right at the centre of the maelstrom.

He hated how it turned the outside world varying shades of black and white, every tree covered in the dismal gloom from above. The porch light, dull and flickering did nothing but cast further shadows across the wall, a pitiful excuse for a light when the sun should have been high in the sky above them.

Sometimes when he blinked, eyes staring into the middle distance, the world felt out of place for a second. Off kilter and barely tangible. 

Like maybe he wasn't there at all, maybe he hadn't gotten home, maybe this was all in his head and soon there'd be a flicker of yellow-

_"-it has been advised that those in the area should prepare for the possibility of flash flooding-"_

Ford shook himself, pulling back slightly from the porch steps, the voice dragging him back out of his wayward thoughts. "It's just a storm."

...But deep down he knew that wasn't the case.

He could feel it in his bones, feel it crackling on his skin, crawling up his back and down his arms. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with the tension, goose bumps popping up on every area of exposed skin as another gust of wind blew through. The notion that a storm was coming, before it had even hit them, enough to make his jaw lock and his mind spin.

After all, in Gravity Falls- things were never just what they seemed.

They were never what they  _should_  be.

Especially when they shouldn't be happening in the first place.

_"-We are being told that a storm this size hasn't been seen in this area since 30 years ago when-"_

"Of course you haven't." Ford muttered, a growl of a sentence as he scowled out towards the darkness, already gathering speed, growing closer and closer with every second.

If he listened closely, he was almost sure he heard a rumble of thunder through the roaring wind that tugged at his coat and hair, as if already gleeful at the prospect of tearing everything apart where it stood. 

But that wasn't all he could hear. Small slithering whispers cascaded through as well, almost imperceptible if he didn't know they were there. Easy to push away, easy to ignore- easy enough to pretend had been nothing but his imagination.

For now.

But still they were there, setting his teeth on edge and his hackles rising. He hated it, hated what it meant, hated what it all stood for. Hated that the world was quickly becoming a canvas for the storm, blank and grey, not a speck of colour-

Well... almost not a speck of colour.

He could feel it burning away, down below his feet. The flickering rift in all its glory. Flecks of red, yellow, blue, mingling together and yet distinct all at once. Just as mesmerising as the portal had once been, sparking and calling to him as it fluttered inside its glass cage.

The cause of all of this. Sapping strength, leeching colour, from the world for a while as the area tried to balance itself once more, tried to reset the damage that had been caused.

And with it came so much more. Worlds colliding had consequences. Side effects. He'd dealt with them before, all alone, betrayed and lost and the world had crumbled around him in more ways than one, pointing out all of his flaws and follies. Pointed out what he had done- what he hadn't done. What he hadn't noticed, things he  _should_  have noticed- and all the while the world had watched, adding an echo to it all, pulling out the threads of his thoughts into twisting lumps of string and casting them out into the storm to fish back out and untangle as best he could. The tempest had swirled above him, clattering through the ramshackle house, Bill's laughter ringing through his ears as he pushed himself into a never ending pile of work, drowned himself in whatever he could find, anything not to sleep, anything to make up for his mistakes. Stitch the world back together again even as it howled at him that he was too late, that Bill had won, that there was nothing he could do... 

Reality melding with dream, dream with reality. 

All alone, no one there to keep him grounded, thoughts spiralling and darting around the confines of his head, ricocheting from wall to wall as he shouted at the empty rooms, shouted at shadows. Flinched at nothing, cringed at his own reflection.  

No idea what was real or wasn't, no one to turn to, no one to ask, just his own crumbling consciousness falling through the cracks in the world- 

He could feel it again, now though, rising like the tide inside him, ready to submerge him. All his doubts, all the memories and monsters he had buried away, wrestling and ready to be brought to the limelight. Ready for the flashes of lightning to show them in stark contrast where everyone could see them. He could feel the itch of paranoia, that circling buzzard of a creature just waiting to dive-

"Jesus, Ford. Are you even listening to the news? We've got a storm coming, get inside and close the door already."

Ford blinked, attention dragged away from the outside world and his own thoughts in one fell swoop. He jumped, spinning around in one fluid movement to find his brother staring out at him in disbelief, the deep set scowl on his face doing nothing to alleviate the flood of tension and irritation that had sparked up at his voice. The nervous fizzling energy sharpened to a point, his insecurities at the known problem on the horizon heating to frustration, a grateful hot anger that he clung to in that instance. Anything to stop the cold gnawing worry that fizzled at his peripherals. Something he could focus in on, ignore everything else clamouring at the edges of his mind, snarling in the dark recesses of his skull. 

Anger was so much more reassuring than fear.

"I know that." Ford snapped. "I could hear your blasted TV all the way down in the basement."

Stan raised an eyebrow at him, a scornful smirk stretching across his mouth, obviously unphased by his waspish remarks. "And yet you're the one outside right now. Or are you going to tell me it's 'just a storm' and I'm being dramatic keeping the kids in until it's blown over?" He rolled his eyes, arms crossing defensively in front of him. "And excuse me for wanting to make sure I keep on top of the updates while I make sure we've got everything we need in case this storms with us for the long haul." 

Ford's teeth ground together, his brother mimicking him in a pompous, blustering voice. His nerve endings crackled with seething energy, as Stan continued muttering under his breath, words he wasn't even sure were meant for him.

"Unlike some people."

_How dare he._

_How **dare**  he!_

_If it wasn't for him then-_

Ford bit down on his tongue, the vicious words clawing up his throat and just begging to be released. It wouldn't do to start an argument now, not when they would be stuck in the house together for the foreseeable future. No matter how ignorant of that thought process his brother was being. Still, he couldn't just leave it entirely. "I'll have you know, I made all the necessary adjustments to the house for such a situation. If they have gone then that's your own fault."

There. Not as argumentative as he could have been, considering.

Stan snorted, a bark of a laugh that didn't suit him at all. Ford tried not to shudder at the disconcerting sound, so different from the booming warmth it used to be. "Adjustments? Thirty years ago, remember. You really think they survived all this time?" He shrugged, his gaze almost apologetic. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Six- Ford, but they didn't survive a week."

"Well, they survived the last big storm, so obviously you must have-"

Stan's laugh cut him off again, his head shaking in strange amusement as he regarded his brother. "And how would you know that?"

"How would I- what?" Ford blinked, head tilting as Stan continued to stare at him in disbelief. Confusion bubbled up thick and fast, though irritation was quickly fizzling through his veins once more. "That's what your blasted TV keeps going on about! Haven't had a storm this big since-" Ford gestured wildly, words sticking again, glued to the roof of his mouth as Stan kept looking at him like  _he_  was the one not getting it.

"Yeah, and?"

"And?" Ford's hands fell to his sides as Stan shook his head again, turning away from him and walking back into the house.

"There were a lot of storms that year, Ford. Worst one was after you were-" His footsteps halted for a second, guilt oozing from his very being before he shook off the feeling and continued on. "You know what I mean." He turned his head over his shoulder, calling out to make sure he heard. "Anyway, whatever, just lock the door properly when you come in, alright? Don't want that wind to tear it off its hinges when it really picks up."

"R-Right..." 

Ford found himself working on autopilot, slipping back inside before bolting the door shut, head resting against it as his mind span with the knowledge Stan had just dropped on him.

How hadn't he realised before?

Of course. It was simple really, in hindsight. The portal had been open for the longest time then. If their small experiments and- the accident- had caused blips in the weather, in only made sense that-

His anger had been doused, the taste of bitter ash and smoke rising inside his chest.

He wouldn't have been surprised if he could cough it all up, choke on the sudden dark images dancing across the back of his eyes. He closed them, head hitting the door softly in an attempt to push them away but now he knew what could have been, his mind span out of control, mixing truth with theory until stories slotted into place.

Stan screaming, the nauseating smell of burning wafting through the air, his brother reaching out for him as the portal sucked him through-

The storm raging above, angry and vicious as it clawed at the house, all the while his brother worked, trying to bring him back- the burn in his shoulder probably pulsing with every thought he gave it. His stomach lurched at the thought. He'd never asked since he'd been back, never apologised. He was mad at him but he'd never meant for... 

He wondered how many times his brother had lived through that nightmare, a foot connecting solidly with his chest, pushing him back against heated metal- His own brother branding him, however unintentionally-

_You deserve this._

...He hoped he didn't believe that. Hoped he hadn't let the pain fester and burn because what did it matter if he was hurt when he'd gotten his brother lost somewhere he was obviously terrified of?

He wondered how many times the whispers growled at him from the dark spaces in the house-

_You shouldn't be here. Why are you here?_

_What have you **done**?_

_He should never have trusted you._

He wondered if his own voice had been in the mix. Wondered if their argument echoed through the halls along with the thunder and kept him from sleep, kept him moving forward, ever onward.  _It's your fault, you've got to bring him back before it's too late._  

He'd never told him, never had a chance to- no, that wasn't true. If he'd sat him down and explained everything back then, then maybe- but he hadn't. There had been too much to do, too little time. He needed to make sure Bill could never break through to their world. And it had left them both in the dark- him on the wrong side of the portal, fighting for his life, and Stan stuck at home, a giant heap of metal to contend with, a storm filled with malicious intent and, for all he knew, Bill plaguing his every moment-

"Stop it. Stop thinking about it, that won't help when the storm comes."

He shook himself, drawing away from the words and the memories. Pushed away the flickering photos his imagination dragged up, the ones that brought a swell of guilt with them, clinging desperately instead to the reality of the situation. The knowledge that if Stan had just heeded his instructions, both in the past and in the present, then they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

He pulled himself to his full height, thoughts back on how to deal with the mistakes Stan had made, logical and calculated, driven by the tutting irritation that if his brother would just listen for once then maybe they'd make it through this.

And if the small morbid curiosity begged the question not only to how Stan survived that storm thirty years ago but also how ever many more tiny bubbles of weather anomalies his struggles to bring him back had brought him-

Well, it wouldn't do to dwell.

 

* * *

 

The storm rolled in during the night. 

The pitch black room lit up for a blinding second, sheet lightning setting the world ablaze through the window above his head. Thunder rattled the frame, shaking and banging as if demanding entrance, as the storm passed overhead.

For a moment Ford was there, the rain clattering against the glass pane as he opened his eyes, another flash of lightning staining his retinas with sparks of light that danced across his vision. He could feel the fabric of the sofa beneath him, feel the chill in the air and the static charge of the fizzling energy kept at bay by thin walls and thinner glass. There was a prickle of alarm, right at the base of his skull, tinny and whistling. A certainty that he couldn't quite grasp, one that he should be more alert at this, that he had something important to do. 

And then just as abruptly, he was no longer in the shack.

Lightning flashed, his vision distorting as the room around him vanished. Rain peppered his face, a deluge of water than ran rivulets down his cheeks and coated his glasses in a thick smear of liquid, blurring everything within his eye line. He could feel his thick coat becoming sodden with every passing moment, the torrential downpour inescapable, as it seeped cold and cloying through every layer of clothing.

A clap of thunder rumbled on above him, making him flinch as he made a quick rotation of his surroundings. He distantly remembered this place, like a puzzle piece that had fallen away from the rest of his mind, a gaping hole that he could only roughly formulate quick estimations of. Or perhaps it was the overarching assault that was causing the confusion, the storm clouds casting thick sharp shadows that seemed to teem with life, bright, sharp, fleeting moments of light giving him only quick snapshots of what the area could have been.

Or perhaps it was just so familiar, so normal that his mind couldn't place it. Just another forest, trees upon trees, a stream of thick sticky mud bubbling in amongst rock and bush and rotted wood. No landmarks, no stars to point his way, just thick billowing cloud and a labyrinth of woodland before him.

Then came the baying.

Ford froze, his breath misting out of him, his back hunched as the rain continued to bombard him. That sound he remembered. The yips, the snarls, the almost gleeful yapping as clattering footsteps rolled towards him, a mockery of the thunder above.

They were hunting him.

Where he was, what was happening, came back full force, hitting him in the stomach with the nauseating reality that if they caught up to him there would be nothing he could do, nothing left of him once they were done. He'd seen it happen before, seen the humanoid creatures that inhabited this planet set their beasts on another being, another runaway that the bounty hunters had decided wasn't worth their time. 

The wanted posters always said dead _or_  alive after all.

He'd promised himself that the bounty hunters would never see their reward.

...He'd promised himself he wouldn't become another casualty.

He'd been so sure he could evade and escape them, get off planet before they'd even noticed he was gone-

The baying was growing louder now, small smatterings of an alien language snapping back and forth above the ruckus and Ford shook himself, scrambling forward across the mud and grime that was quickly becoming a river.

It wouldn't do to pull apart what went wrong with his plan, for now he had to escape.

All that mattered was escaping alive.

The mud squelched beneath his feet, each step an effort he couldn't afford as he tried to run, hands pulling him further, faster, with every tree or rock that came within reach. It was as if he was sinking, each step forward plunging him deeper into quicksand that clung to him, tugged him closer, sapped his strength as he fought fruitlessly against it.

_You'll never do it. You'll never escape._

_Remember, we own you now._

His eyes steeled as he ripped away, ignoring how brambles bit into his sleeves, tree branches hooking into any loose fabric, as if the whole forest was working with the creatures gaining ground behind him.

Mud splashed up with every step, coating him in a film of it and hysterically he hoped that it would cover his scent, keep the howling beasts behind him from catching on to him. 

He pushed it all aside, pushed down the fear, pushed away the growling teeth his mind knew would soon lock on to ankles and feet, bottled it all up and threw away the key.

And then he ran. 

He slipped and skidded, dragged himself up without thought or question. 

_Move, just move._

And for a while it worked, the pulse of adrenaline pounding painfully in his head, his breathing stuttering into panicked fluctuating patterns as he just tried to get enough air to keep moving forward. It didn't matter how much his muscles ached, didn't matter how his lungs burned and his heart beat out of his rib cage. He just needed to keep going until they stopped chasing him, until they gave up and he could rest.

The storm howled above him, a vicious, vengeful sound, as if angry at him for even trying. 

He couldn't help but grin, the sounds of the pack falling further and further behind him, even as the wind slammed into him full force, as if to slow his momentum.

He refused to let it, arms raised defensively as he pushed onward.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

There was an ominous creak, wood on wood, cracking under tremendous force. A long drawn out groan of pain from the very forest itself as the floor rumbled beneath his feet. He froze, panting breaths of frost, rain gushing from his lips as he tried to find the source, a newfound and unknown danger stopping him in his tracks, as deadly as he knew that might be.

And there was a niggle in the back of his head, a niggle that he'd done this before and he'd figured out what was going on, had found a place to hide, to run to, because something was coming, something that would make this entire situation that much worse if he didn't move now-

But for the life of him, his mind deserted him, a blank empty darkness that swallowed him up. He stumbled forwards, trying to run again, but his feet had once more caught, sinking far further than he'd expected into the ground. His hands, slick with muck, slipped from the hold he had on a rock, palm opening as it scraped down the sharpened edge as he fell forwards. 

His jaw hit stone, slamming down with the whole force of his weight, teeth clattering together in a way that made his entire skull quake with the force of it. He couldn't think through the pain, sliding down further into the sludge, each tooth a pinprick of agony as he tried to assess what the heated viscous liquid against his tongue was and where it had come from. Tried to carefully assess the damage, wondering if his teeth had shattered into splinters from the pain that radiated through his jaw-

It wasn't his biggest concern, however.

The ground rumbled beneath him again, eyes casting around, glasses now covered in dark brown specks. He couldn't see, but he could feel it, knew that there was something rushing towards him, washing between root and trunk, feel the gush of it between his fingers as the mud liquefied further.

_The dam burst._

Ford's eyes widened, the spark of recognition flashing terrifyingly before him. He remembered now. He'd been rushing, running through everything, ignoring the mist of rain and the howling winds, he'd seen the dam burst, seen the water flood across the valley and into the trees. 

He'd found high ground, he'd watched as the water swept through to the encampment, heard the screams on the wind.

He hadn't found it in him to care, could only watch with grim satisfaction as his would be jailers met their doom, the hunting party decimated by an inescapable wave.

They had thought they were invincible.

He knew otherwise.

He blinked as cold mud mingled with heated blood in his mouth, dragging him back to the present. He couldn't help but panic, tug at the constricting goop, the sludge that bound him and pulled him into its sweet embrace. 

He remembered falling, he remembered hurting himself.

But he'd dragged himself up and fled higher, kept his sights on moving higher and higher, out of reach of the flood.

_You'll never escape._

Yet now-

Now tar was pouring through his mouth, slithering into his lungs. He couldn't move his head, couldn't pull himself up, and it was solidifying, keeping him from breathing through it. His vision turned dark, smothered and encased by a putrid mix of everything this world had to offer.

_Remember, we own you now._

He couldn't breathe. The world was closing in.

_You're not allowed to escape._

He could feel himself sinking further, through the terror. A natural grave made just for him.

The forest would look after him now.

_Wait! This isn't what happened!_

_This didn't-_

Ford woke with a start, sitting up ramrod straight as he tried and failed to breathe. 

His hands clutched at the blanket around him, throat burning as air whistled past cloying, cold mud. His vision faded in and out, a ring of darkness fizzling at the edges as small dark dots blinked in and out of existence. He could feel himself shaking, feel it like a cloak of cold vibrations that wasn't his body to control, not when all he could focus on was the wheeze of air that refused to enter his lungs, the thin whistle of an opening that choked and squeezed like there was no actual air around him, only thick gelatinous matter sliding in thick globules of muck through his airways.

He flinched as lightning cracked, a thunderclap of sound echoing at the exact same moment. It pulled him ever so slightly out of the fear, out of the moment, casting the room into clarity. The sofa beneath him became warm and malleable, the blanket a soft comforting fuzz against his sweat soaked, feverish body. But at the same moment the light turned the world hazy, the rush of water filling his ears, the room tinted blue and brown, filling up and up with water as he drowned beneath the mud-

His glasses glinted, a bright beacon in amongst it all and he lunged for them, shaking fingers slipping them on to his face and the world righted itself ever so slightly. The room came into focus, though it flickered at the edges, a tunnel of looming darkness and he realised with a jolt that his chest was moving in quick spasms and bursts, still under the illusion that he couldn't breathe.

He took a moment, tried to take a deeper breath, ignoring the way it burned on the way down, how it felt incomplete and suffocating and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He kept his eyes open as wide as possible, watching as the tunnel widened, as the flickering lights began to dissipate.

As each long, slow breath took air to his brain and through his system, rational thought made its way back through the cracks in his psyche.

"Ju-just a dream. Just a nightmare."

" _You really think so, Sixer?"_

Ford flinched, pulling himself back until he hit the wall behind him. His eyes darted across the dark room, trying to discern anything in the gloom. 

Lightning flashed again, highlighting the room, highlighting his small pile of belongings, wood walls, wood floor-

All a comforting brown, the sofa blue, the doorknob burnished bronze.

Nothing was grey, nothing was yellow, there was no semblance of the mindscape and he found himself letting out another shaky, warbling breath. 

Nothing but ghosts.

And yet he could feel the wisps, slipping up his spine, feel them crawling up his shoulders to whisper and hiss in his ear. 

Blinked and saw shadowed shapes scatter to the darkest corners of the room.

He could feel his muscles tightening, jaw locking as the world grew that much bigger, that much more dangerous, every alarm bell screaming at him to run, to fight, because things were out there, waiting for him in the darkness-

_"Wow, you're looking rough, Sixer."_

Ford hissed, eyes darting up to the ceiling, a trail of sparking yellow all that he caught sight of before it vanished once more. "What do you want?"

_"What do I want? You already know that, brainiac."_

His fists tightened in the bedding, eyes still darting around the room. "Well, you'll never get it, so why don't you just leave me in peace."

There was a sharp cackle, a crackling noise, like glass shattering and nails grinding down a chalkboard.  _"Oh, don't you worry. I don't need to hang around. For a while that is. You'll tear yourself apart all by yourself."_

Ford felt an edge of desperation that wasn't completely in keeping with the present. It felt age old, a leaden weight of fear and sleep deprivation bundled up into an explosion of chaos. He could feel the clawing paranoia, clamouring its way up his throat as he realised the bed he'd made for himself. The enemy he was making. This demon didn't even think it had to do anything, that his own guilt would swallow him whole, that the very thought of him would drive him mad.

And all the while, his heart ached at another betrayal, another person who had promised him the world and ripped it out from beneath his feet.

But the feeling was old, should have been dulled by years of running, years of living. There was a sense of Deja vu to the entire conversation. Then again, that wasn't abnormal with Bill. 

Even after years, he still tried the same old tactics, over and over and-

"It won't work, Bill. I'll find a way to stop you. It'll take more than what you've thrown at me so far to get me to quit."

_"Aww, Sixer, I'm hurt. You don't like our little games?"_

"No." The word came out, bitter and dark, ground to powder between clenched teeth.

_"Well, now, that's just too bad. You're gonna have a lot more games to contend with soon. And I won't even be about for you to shout at! No, this will just be you and your head, all on your own... think you can live with that?"_

"I've done it before."

He could almost hear the venomous grin.

 _"Not like this, you haven't. I can't wait to watch you fall. There's no one around to catch you this time."_ There was another high pitch giggle, childlike in the worst possible way.  _"How is your assistant anyway?"_

"My-?" The room filled with light and Ford blinked, the paranoia and guilt welling up to burst inside his chest. He hadn't found Fiddleford, not since he'd been home, hadn't even thought he'd still be there. All that had happened, at the portal, everything in between, all the monster hunts he didn't want to be part of, all the reasonable doubts he had about his muse- all ignored, all brushed aside until it was too late.

And then Bill had come to goad him, just like he had now. 

Ford sat up straight, eyes darting around once more to find the culprit. The room was littered with notes, pages and pages of research, every single shred of evidence he had on Bill and every thought on how to get rid of him. Cups and glasses were strewn about, coffee stains covering scribbled in textbooks, glass bottles clinking whenever he kicked one accidentally back under his desk. It was a state, he was a mess, but it didn't matter, not until he could defeat Bill, not until he could finally rest, until then he just had to keep going-

Ford shook his head, going back to the moment at hand. For some reason he felt younger, less snarling and confident, less assured in his own skills. Maybe he still needed sleep, maybe he wasn't as well rested as he thought he was. "Fiddleford left."

He frowned, hand reaching to his lips.  _Why did I-? Fiddleford left years ago-_

Bill whistled, a mock sympathetic noise, filled somehow more with appreciation.  _"Wow, never thought he had it in him. Hate to be him now though. Out in that storm."_

Affronted irritation blossomed, thick and fast, Ford's body tense and defensive. "Fiddleford can look after himself. A little storm's not going to worry him."

The laughter grew again, all consuming, rattling the glasses together where they sat.  _"A little storm? Oh, wow, you really aren't as smart as you look, are you, genius? I thought you were better than that."_

"I- what?"

 _"You really never noticed? The gravitational anomalies were obvious I admit, but the storms weren't exactly subtle. After every single experiment with the portal? Never noticed that?"_ Bill's laugh grew scornful, an adult laughing at a child's antics, mocking and infuriating.  _"How about how suspicious and twitchy that little assistant of yours got? Sure got on your nerves after every success when he started having doubts, didn't it? I wouldn't worry about it anymore though. Whatever's left of his mind won't last long, he'll be a lot happier soon enough."_

"I-I- that's not- that can't be..."

 _"Sorry, kid, but that's what happens when you tear apart the fabric of space and time. Things filter through. I might not be able to get to you yet, but that doesn't mean nothing got through."_ Yellow flicked at the edges of his vision, making him cringe and curl inwards. " _So I think I'll just sit and wait. You're about to get a storm from another dimension- the nightmare realm. Have fun trying to distinguish dream from reality. Like I said, gonna be real fun watching that chaos from afar, it's almost a pity I don't get to be part of it. Then again, you could save us all the trouble now. Open up the portal properly, stop all this in its tracks. Once the portal stabilises, you won't have to worry about gravity and terrible weather anymore."_

"Only you."

_"That's the ticket! What do ya say?"_

"Never."

_"Shame. Real shame."_

A large flickering yellow eye took over his vision, a full body shudder thrumming through him as it froze him in place.

" _Real shame about your assistant too. I did like watching him panic."_

Ford flinched away, propelling the chair he sat in back. The back legs caught, the chair flipping him backwards and suddenly he was falling-

Pain radiated out of the back of his skull, a loud yelp snapping out of his lips as his head collided with wood.

He snapped his eyes open, expecting to see ceiling. He could feel his pulse in his ears, thrumming away, but as the fog of fear cleared, he found himself once more staring at his room, staring at the old and familiar wood that he hadn't seen in years. He felt the old aches and pains of age, felt the shadow of sleep deprivation leave him as he came back to the present with a jolt of relief and remorse.

That had all happened years ago, it wasn't happening now.

The world was safe, he'd contained the rift. No matter how similar the situations seemed, the portal had been dismantled, it was gone.

Bill couldn't get him to do anything, even if another storm was bellowing above them.

And yet the paranoia still slipped, slimy and cold through his veins, his mind spinning around in circles that couldn't be answered. What if Bill had other plans? What if the rift wasn't as safe as he thought it was? What if Bill had found a way back into his head, back into his house-

"No. No, that's the storm talking. That's the storm. You are safe. The rift is safe. Everything will be OK." The words came out in a mantra, anything to keep the seething mass of ghosts at bay, anything to keep him grounded. 

_"How is your assistant anyway?"_

Ford's hands came up to clutch at his hair, arms smothering his ears in an attempt to hide. "Stop it, you're not real, you're not real-"

But it didn't matter, not when his stomach was filling with a congealing mass of shame and guilt.

Not when he didn't know. He had no idea how Fiddleford had fared through that storm, had no idea what had happened to him since.

_You didn't even ask, you haven't even checked. You brought all of this down on him, anything that happened to him is your doing and you never even asked._

A soft whimper, regret and pain, left him, his eyes squeezed shut against the snarling words, his own voice disgusted and judgemental in his ear.

_Pathetic._

"No." Ford opened his eyes, pulling himself back into a seated position. "I can't do this. Not now, I can't fall apart now."

The storm was getting worse, he needed to do something before it all got out of control.

He had to get out of this dark, dank room, find something to preoccupy himself with.

He stumbled to his feet, racing out and into the hallway without a thought on how it might look. He didn't even really care if there was anyone or anything out there, only that he get out of the room where his nightmares were coalescing into something far more tangible than he ever wished to deal with.

He didn't even care what the time was, how early or late it may seem. Now was definitely not the time for sleep and that was all he could fathom as he darted up the cold, lonely corridor back into the main areas of the house, hoping that the comfort of his newfound family would ease some of the tension. Pull him back from the precipice.

The dark hallway lightened up as he came into the main foyer, the windows casting the dismal grey light from outside in, but at least it was something. He gave a relieved sigh when he glanced at a nearby clock. It wasn't much, but knowing that it was 4AM was somehow comforting. He'd gotten some rest, no one would be too upset at him for being up, or at least he could explain it away easier.

It also meant he wouldn't have to wait too many hours for someone else to be up, for some chipper smiling child to bring some sunlight back into the world.

He just wished that it was lighter still, that the gloom wasn't seeping in through the walls and coating everything in thunderclouds. That he didn't see monstrous shapes rearing up in normal everyday objects, didn't see flashes of movement behind every blink of an eye.

It felt like it was winter, felt like the days were short, cut off before the sun could warm the earth, and it was only the knowledge that the kids were tucked upstairs asleep that made him sure that it was summer.

If they hadn't told him as such, he wouldn't have thought it for a moment as the temperature dropped and the world became sodden.

He shook away the thought, reminding himself that soon enough the storm would pass, and it would be summer again, and all of this wouldn't last forever, no matter how bad it felt in that instant.

Ford hummed softly to himself, the thought a respite in the gloom, safe in the knowledge that this was all temporary. He relaxed ever so slightly, turning back to face the inside of the house instead of towards the porch, ready for the inevitable adjustment to the poor lighting around him as he got ready to navigate through the house.

He stuttered to a halt as he did so, eyes caught on the bright warm glow emanating from across the room.

There was a light on, further in the house.

No one else should be up, he shouldn't even be up.

He gulped, shuffling forward, quieter and slower than before. He knew he should take the light as an assurance, but with everything else going on, he couldn't quite be sure if the light was a false sense of security. Who knew what could await him in the other room, who knew what kind of twisted little nightmare his brain could come up with.

He knew the inside of his head, it wasn't always pretty. And he also knew that some nights, the things that woke him made him pause and wonder how he could even have come up with them.

It could be his worst enemy sometimes.

He scurried over to the open doorway, the light blossoming out like a comforting call. He leant against the wall, breathing heavy as he listened intently, eyes locked to the wall across from him in case any shadows came close.

Nothing.

No sound. 

No movement.

He swallowed, trepidation fizzling through his veins. He could feel himself glued to the wall, stuck between fight or flight.

Run in guns blazing or dart away, hide somewhere safe until this whole debacle was over.

_It's not real. Whatever is in there is not real. Just leave it be. Go. Now._

But he couldn't.

Because the fear of the unknown was worse.

His mind could shift and play then, toy with the idea of what it possibly could be. Would have it sniffing him out, clicking claws against woodwork, snarling growls and gnashing teeth. It would slip slimy up the walls, crouch high and small above him before pouncing at him from the darkness. 

It would glow, eyes bright and sharp, seeing everything while he was stuck lost and alone, blind against it-

Or he wouldn't hear anything, see anything. Instead there would be screams. His family, unknowing of the dangers he could have prevented, stuck, trapped in the attic with no chance of escape-

His brother running full pelt into danger that he had no chance of beating without vital information-

He took a deep breath, jumping around the corner to face whatever monstrosity resided in their kitchen. He didn't need to think, he needed to move, letting instinct take the wheel as the terrible thoughts of what the future could hold short circuited his mind, made it blissfully blank even as his chest felt hollow and empty at the mere suggestions it had pulled forth.

He darted into the room, hand poised ready above his gun as he regarded the scene, got ready to pull out every shred of knowledge on his assailant. Anything that could make this as easy for him as possible-

And instead found himself staring at his brother's back.

He flinched back, hand dropping from his gun like it had burned him.

_Look at you, jumping at lights and shadows._

_Who knows what you could have done._

_Would you have been able to forgive yourself if you'd-_

"Stop it." Ford muttered under his breath, stemming the flow of reprimanding voices. It didn't bear thinking about. His fears were getting the better of him- this weather was getting the better of him. What if it had been one of the twins? Or if his brother had moved or-

No. He'd never hurt them, no matter how exhausted and panicked he was.

_And yet..._

His eyes caught on the scar, the brand, the edge of it visible above Stan's white vest. Shame bubbled up, filled up all the hollow edges of his chest with its nauseating notions.

He'd never meant to- never. He'd never intentionally-

_But you did. In more ways than one._

Ford's demeanour steeled at the thought, dragging himself up to his full height. He wouldn't take the blame for their fights, Stan was to blame just as much as himself, if not more so.

The brand had been a horrible accident, one that he would apologise for, when he found the best time to do so. But he wouldn't apologise for being angry with him for restarting the portal and bringing him home.

_It's his fault we're even in this mess!_

His face hardened, a swift nod to himself as he went back to the moment at hand. "Stan? What are you doing up?"

His voice may have come out harsher than intended, but he had no doubt that the response would be just as sharp no matter how he sounded. In any case, maybe it was best to leave up the wall of animosity. Stan wasn't going to admit he was wrong, so why should he?

Ford frowned when Stan ignored him, his back still facing him. He grit his teeth. "Ignoring me now, Stan? Are we being that childish?"

No response.

His mouth slackened, a tingle of worry and nerves slipping up his spine.

His brother hadn't moved at all, his steady breaths all that spoke of life. 

He was stood, staring out the window, body statue still, not even a tremor of cold running through him at the still fast dropping temperature.

Or maybe it was just dropping for him, a cold spell washing over him.

He couldn't see Stan's eyes.

He wasn't acting human, or at least not like himself. Ford had never known him to be still for any amount of time, always racing ahead, always filled with pent up energy that needed to escape.

Now he was just cold, and quiet, and so unlike Stan.

"S-Stan?"

Nothing.

His mouth felt dry, his eyes watering under the sudden need to not blink, to see everything that happened. He took slow measured steps forward, slipping to the side and out of reach, all in the hopes of having a chance to defend himself if his worst fears were confirmed. If glowing yellow eyes and a twisted grin met him, if Bill had found his way into their house- not only their house, but found a way to trick his  _brother_. Anger flared, soothing and warm throughout his system at the thought.

It didn't matter how much they didn't get along, he knew there weren't many ways to trick his brother into doing something.

He wouldn't be convinced by flattery. It would have been a threat, a threat towards him, or the kids, or something of that ilk.

Ford's eyes narrowed.

No one threatened his brother.

He snuck quietly around the room, biting on his tongue to stop the pleas from spluttering forth. If Stan would just answer him, let him know he was OK then everything would be fine. He could breathe a sigh of relief and laugh it off. Or probably splutter it off, throw out some snark filled remark about worrying about Stan and watch his brother snap back. 

And then the world would be right again. The pair of them at each others throats like they always were.

...It was better than the alternatives.

He took a deep breath in, sidling up one more step so that his brother's face showed in profile from where he stood. The air left him in a relieved hiss as he scrutinised him. There was no yellow, no beady black slits, no grin that stretched impossibly wide across his face-

Just his brother, jaw slack, eyes staring out of the window. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his face awash with a glazed but impossibly sad expression. 

"Stan? What's wrong?"

The words came out before he could stop them, brotherly concern billowing out of him in a way he hadn't felt since they were kids. 

His brother was hurting and there was nothing he could do. He didn't even know what was wrong.

Well, there were a good many theories running through his head but without truly knowing, without his brother turning around and letting him help, it felt like they might as well be on other sides of the portal still for all the good he could do.

And there was a niggling doubt, a niggling worry, that he would only make it worse. That he would try and it would blow up in his face. That Stan would be honest with him, open up, and all that he would be able to give in return was anger and frustration. That even beneath it all, there was a layer, a wall that neither of them could break down now even if they wanted to.

They were both too stubborn, too set in their ways. 

_I still want to try._

The thought left him in a soft gasp, a realisation that he hadn't even known was still around after all their frequent arguments.

He still wanted to try.

But it was still mingling with everything else. The more Stan continued to ignore him, the more the concern fizzled with frustration. "Damn it, Stan. This is just like you. I try to help and you-" He gestured uselessly, growling nonsensical bitterness beneath his breath, eyes still watching and waiting carefully. He'd give up this silly facade soon enough and when he did, maybe then he'd allow him to help. 

Maybe he wouldn't but if he wasn't careful Ford would put an end to it all before he was ready.

"For the love of-  _Stan_." Ford's hand reached out, ready to grab him, ready to shake him, before an abrupt clatter of noise distracted him from the moment.

Stan's breathing hitched, eyes darting this way and that, though they never once left the rivulets of water running down the window pane, as if they held far more in them than Ford could see. His arms were outstretched, itching to pull his brother out of whatever was happening, but he couldn't help but worry that the shock would do far worse.

Something was very very wrong.

The rain crashed down louder around them, as if they were stood outside right in the heart of it. He wondered how Stan could see anything through the frost it made on the glass, how it smeared the flashing lightning into wisps of light that streaked and cracked across it. 

His blood went cold as a gunshot rang out. He flinched back, the sound cracking through the glass, but there were no fragmented splinters to accompany it, no bullet shattering the pane into shards.

Just the noise, loud and ringing in his ears, his brother's breathing growing louder and more ragged with every second.

Another shot rang out, this time accompanied by screeching brakes, by the squeal of tyres against flooded tarmac. 

The room span for a second, Ford shook his head at the sudden vertigo, the shapes and sounds jarring and incomprehensible. There was nothing to go on in his head, no theory or logic to what was going on around them.

So, he continued to watch, observe, waiting for any kind of sign.

A splutter of an engine, his brother's fist clenching and unclenching at his sides. Another ringing shot, another crack of glass.

The engine spluttered again, the noise rolling on and on but not catching- until suddenly it roared to life, the tyres screaming back into play.

The roar grew distant, the vehicle driving further and further away.

Stan shifted back, blinked once, twice, before the haze across his face lifted. There was still something there, a desperate, painful edge to his expression as he rubbed a hand over his neck, then across his shoulder, hand slipping below his sleeve, as if expecting something to be there, some injury that needed to be dealt with. 

Ford didn't like the thought one bit, didn't like the possibilities that were slowly coming to the forefront of his mind.

Stan continued to stand there for a moment longer, a warble of relief rumbling up as his hesitant fingers found nothing, the hand instead going to scrub at his face, pushing up his glasses, with a deep exhausted groan.

It was only once his hand dropped, his glasses falling back on with them, that he saw Ford.

He blinked a few times, hand going back to scrub at his eyes as if he was seeing things. "Sixer?" The nickname set his teeth on edge but he wouldn't snap at him for it, not when the word was slurred with exhaustion and probably something deeper. Besides, he seemed to realise what he'd said, becoming more alert as he coughed, eyes nervous and suspicious. "What are you doing up? It's early-" He shook himself, squinting back outside again as if that would help him in his argument. "At least, I think it's early."

"Uhh-" Ford blanked at the shift in gear, the conversation derailing before he had a chance to test the waters. "That is- I could ask you the same?" His eyebrows furrowed, his face a picture by the way Stan's eyes widened. "No, that's not- I wanted to ask if-" The words refused to come out, each question sounding more useless by the second. Instead a statement fell out, sitting between them like another wall. "I've been stood here for a while."

"Oh." Stan coughed, pulling up a little to grin sheepishly over at him. "Sorry, must have zoned out for a bit. Did you need something?"

"No. Just wondered..."  _If you did?_

Why was it so hard to say? He'd wanted to before, when Stan wasn't paying attention to him. Now that he was, why couldn't his words just play along with him?

Stan stared at him, scrutinising. It was a strange mix, a soft vulnerability that he was trying desperately to hide behind gruff indifference, a feat that he was failing at miserably. "What? I'm fine. No need to worry about me."

"You're up early."

Ford could have kicked himself, or laughed. What kind of wording was that?

His brother seemed to think the same, a strange discordance laugh bubbling out of him. "Wow, does that seem that strange to you?" He rolled his eyes when Ford glared back at him, mouth open as if ready to snap. He scowled, eyes leaving him to look back out at the storm. "I just had a nightmare, that's all. You happy now?"

"No. Not really."

Stan huffed at the genuine admission, arms crossing defensively as he still refused to acknowledge him. "Just a nightmare. Not like it's anything important."

Ford didn't know what to say to that, didn't know whether to agree and let the matter lie or push. It didn't sit right with him, none of it did, but another part of him was shamefully relieved.

It had just been a nightmare, the storm had just made it worse, made it glue to the inside of his head and twisted itself into this tangible monster that had to play out even when Stan managed to wake up. 

He could deal with that, he could fix it. He could tell Stan everything, tell him what the storm did and that it would all pass soon.

That none of it was real.

Before the words were out though, Stan muttered something more under his breath. A sentence that would haunt him, no matter how hard he tried to push the reality of them away.

"Just old memories. Wish they'd leave me be, I've already lived through them once."

Everything in Ford stuttered to a grinding halt. Stan didn't even notice, his eyes once again locked outside, this time more disappointed, more irritated, as if he only had himself to blame for the memories that refused to let him rest. He wanted to say something, wanted to console him, but he couldn't through the lump in his throat, the flickering images now behind his eyelids as the sounds from before melded into a seamless piece of footage he never wanted to see.

His brother running for his life, his car careening down rain soaked roads, the windscreen a blur of streetlights, of oncoming vehicles barely visible through the haze. Gunshots echoing out, the screeching tear of brakes as glass shattered and a bullet found it's mark.

The car spinning, round and round, his brother blacking out for a second with pain-

Ford swallowed, his tongue thick and choking in his mouth.

When had this happened to him?

Why had it happened to him?

He could try to convince himself that Stan had got himself into trouble, but it didn't help the feeling that the floor was opening up around him, that his world was crumbling with every step, as he looked back on their lives with a sudden fresh pair of eyes.

Stan was meant to have been able to look after himself.

Their father kicking him out wasn't meant to lead to-

_He could have died._

He didn't want to think about it. 

_What would you have done? He could have died out there, all alone. Not knowing his family gave a damn-_

No matter what happened, Stan didn't deserve that.

He didn't deserve what had happened as it was, let alone that.

Whatever had actually happened, Ford was sure of that fact.

"Stan..."

The word came out without any real conviction. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to think, but the word was out now. His brother turned to him, eyebrow raised, face shutting down as if ready for something terrible. Ford couldn't help the pang of hurt at the expression. At the thought that Stan was sure he was about to be reprimanded, that his brother was so sure that he wouldn't have a good word to say. That he wouldn't be capable of a comforting moment.

He couldn't blame him though.

"Stan, if you want to talk, then-"

The soft warm light above them flickered, as the wind gave another high pitched whistle of anguish through the cracks and crevices of the shack. His words caught in his throat as both their gazes snapped upwards, the light fluctuating and leaving dots of light whenever it vanished again. 

"What were you saying..." Stan's words were distracted, eyebrows furrowing in concern as the light continued its tenuous link, but it was enough to drag Ford's eyes away from the worrying display.

Back down to Stan, where the yellow light hit his eyes at just the wrong angle-

Ford stumbled back, Stan's eyes snapping to him in the same instance. "Ford? You OK?"

The light turned off again, flicking on for barely a second, and the yellow glazed eyes were no longer in his brother's skull, instead there was just one beady slitted eye just behind his shoulder, a gleeful grin somehow glowing through the look as small arms wrapped around his brother's shoulders.

Darkness reigned, his breathing suddenly loud and abrasive to his own ears as he struggled to see through the dismal gloom.

"S-Stan?"

Lightning cracked across the sky, the room lighting up with a frostbitten shard of light.

And unnatural eyes gleamed back at him from his brother's face.

_"You're too late, Sixer."_

The room plunged into darkness once more, though it closed in this time, smothered him as if there was a thick veil of black that he would never escape from. It tightened around him, a solid, tangible presence. Small whispers, tendrils of fabric wrapped around his legs, his arms, crawled up his back, making him flinch and slap at the offending hold. His breathing hitched, becoming more laboured, quick panicked spurts as his heart beat a fearful racket against his ribs.

Bill was here.

The wind cracked against the glass, sharp, jagged, laughter echoing through the torrent as he stumbled back further. 

The back of his legs hit something solid, wooden at just the wrong angle and suddenly the world shifted. He couldn't see but he could feel himself falling, still feel his eyes hit ceiling in a fit of disorientation as his back hit the floor with a solid thump that winded him.

A chair clattered down beside him, recognisable in the din it made against the tiled floor.

"Sixer-"

The word merged into two voices, the panicked cry from his brother morphing into a mocking affection. It was a word he never wanted him to utter ever again. The connotations behind it were just too much, too painful.

Two betrayers mixing into one and both of them using that name, that stupid, bitter, nickname that tasted like ash and regret on the back of his tongue. Only this was so much more unwelcome, so, so much more disastrous than that. This was Bill. This was him finding his way in, this was him using his brother's voice, his malicious intent ringing through in his brother's gruff tone, and the discordance made his mind spiral deeper into a sinking despair.

He didn't know why it was worse, but it just felt so utterly  _wrong_. His brother had hurt him, sure, but there was some part of him, deep, deep down that knew he would never ever harm him the way Bill had done. He'd never trick him to that extent, there was always some small, fleeting good intention hidden beneath his actions, or at least an honest, desperate anger fuelling him to fight-

And it ached, it ached so much, this sudden, shocking revelation that he just  _didn't know_  what to do. Could he really fight his brother? Could he stop Bill from hurting either of them? Could he do whatever it took to defeat Bill even if it meant- 

...He found with a terrifying, dawning realisation that he couldn't. That he didn't even want to think about it.

And with that he knew that Bill had won. He'd found a weak point.

One he could exploit so very easily.

One he hadn't even known still existed.

 _"Oh, Sixer. You'll mess up, and when you do~"_  

"Stop it!" The words burst out of him, a whistling heave of energy that scattered across the room before him. His back hit one of the table legs, head narrowly missing the edge, as he scrambled back further, elbows and palms tearing across the floor without a thought. There was a ringing clunk as something wobbled above him, the sound of rolling, followed by a resounding crash as glass hit the floor beside him. He felt the shatter in his bones, felt himself fall ever so slightly apart along with every shard that rattled across the floor.

A sharp poignant smell reached him, liquid soaking into his coat.

His heart sunk as he took in what he'd done.

_No! No, no, no, I need that!_

Desperation peppered his thoughts, his mind span and screamed. He could taste it on his tongue, the burn, the craving- anything to get Bill out of his head. To give him some peace.

And he'd just wasted it, hadn't he?

Smashed it on the ground where no one could get the benefit of the blissful numbness it could give them.

_Please- I can't have- It must have been-_

Something heavy and solid landed on his shoulder, dragging him back from his distress, back out of his head and into the darkness that was reality.

It didn't help matters.

His own hands slammed on top of, what he soon discerned was, someone else's hand. He gripped it tight, a snarl rumbling from the back of his throat at his assailant, though it whistled through constricted airways, his body still struggling through its own panic and adrenaline.

He wasn't sure his heart could beat any faster, his pulse humming behind his ears and through his fingers, still tightly coiled, white knuckled, around another's wrist.

"Easy, easy- it's just me."

The words were soothing, soft and calm, but he didn't trust them. Not with the darkness, not with the still trickling echo of maniacal laughter ringing through his skull. It didn't make sense, so suspicious in the circumstances.

He'd spent so long alone, so long looking after himself, why would anyone even think about comforting him?

"Ford? Ford, can you hear me? I just need you to take some deep breaths, OK? Whatever happened, we can fix it, alright?"

Ford frowned, the voice so... familiar, but it was slipping through him sluggishly, a muffled filter between them as if he was caught between two worlds, slipping in and out of focus.

He was sure it had been Bill with him, only moments ago- but Bill wouldn't act this caring...

He never had, not even when he had trusted him. He had just pushed and pushed him to keep moving. Apologised flippantly for hurting him, but never truly seeming to realise how big a deal it was. Always slipped insidious thoughts into his head.  _That's too bad, I would have thought you could handle more than that- do better than that- I chose you for a reason, you're so brilliant, Sixer, I'm sure you can work through it, can't you?_

Never once did he tell him to rest, to look after himself. Never once did he care if he worked himself into the ground.

As long as he finished the job, that was all that mattered.

"Come on, bro, you can do it."

Another hand landed on his chest, directly above his heart. Another flutter of fear stuttered through him, mind screeching to a halt at having left himself so wide open to attack.

"Sorry, sorry-"

The familiarity was growing, his brother's voice stretching out and manifesting before him. He squinted through the gloom, felt the apologetic guilt, felt the slight cringe through the hands on him as they clenched and unclenched, conflicted and filled with indecision.

The hand at his shoulder tried to tug back, but for some reason Ford couldn't let go, a lifeline as the world began to clear before him.

Stan took that as encouragement, hand gripping down once more, grounding him.

"I'm just trying to help, OK? I promise, I'm not going to hurt you." The hand on his chest moved ever so slightly, the heel of his palm shifting in and out in soft, slow pulses. "Just- follow my lead? Breathe in-" There was a loud inhale in the dark space ahead of him, his own body following suit without thought as the hand moved out with his rib cage. "And out- slower- keep going, that's it." The hand pushed in softly, his breath exiting in a warbling hiss. "In again, now- I'm going to stop talking, I just want you to keep going, you're doing great."

Ford let the man before him get his breathing back on track. The darkness didn't shift but the suffocating closeness of it all fell away from him with every exhale, as if he was pushing the storm forcefully away from himself. 

He continued to clutch at the hand at his shoulder, a tether to make sure he didn't shatter to pieces and get blown away as well.

There was a relieved sigh before him, the hand at his chest giving him an awkward, comforting pat before pulling away entirely. A small noise of discontent left him, a plea still strangled by fear and wrapped up in too many layers of confusion and disorientation.

"Hey, it's OK. I'm not going anywhere." The words were a comfort, steadfast and genuine even through the gloom. Ford could feel his hand hovering, warm and hesitant, not wanting to set off any more fear in his brother and he couldn't help the slimy pulse of vulnerability, of shame slipping through him now that the danger seemingly had passed.

Jumping at shadows- what had he become?

"Si-" There was a shift in his breathing, a backwards tug that cut the word in half. Stan sighed again, a sound of defeat, of disappointment, that made the shame grow thicker and more solid in his stomach. "Sorry, Ford. Are you hurt at all? I heard something break, can you tell me if you've cut yourself? I can't see but I know we need to deal with that-"

The light flickered back on above them, dim and dismal but there all the same.

Sighs of relief echoed out from both of them.

Ford sat up straighter, eyes darting around the room, across familiar safe lines and ordinary pastel colours. No bright sickening flashes of neon, no fluttering movements just at the edge of his vision. Just solid wood and cold soothing tile and the crystal clear knowledge that the storm was giving them some reprieve.

He could feel a gaze burning into the side of his skull as he did so, scrutinising him as he assessed the room. His head snapped to the culprit, wide eyed and frazzled, and watched his brother flinch ever so slightly, recoil just a tad before he got caught, his hand still locked to Ford's shoulder.

They both blinked down at the offending hold before turning to stare at one another once more, both quiet and lost as to what to do next.

Ford found he still couldn't bring himself to speak, eyes caught on familiar fearful brown eyes, warm with a worried concern that he'd never expected to have directed at himself again.

Stan's eyes only seemed to hold heated embers, angry and distraught at him, since he had returned.

Now though, there was difference in the way he held himself. The tables had turned and Stan had become a shield once more to the outside world. No longer an opponent, tall and imposing and ready for a fight whenever they spoke, and instead a stoic defender, ready to fight away Ford's demons even when they resided in his own skull. His face was downcast, a perturbed frown instead of his usual scowl, as if he was ready to be pushed away at a moment’s notice. But there was a stubborn set to his jaw, a bright shining empathy in his gaze that Ford wished wasn't there, in amongst the grim determination that meant Ford would have to fight him if he tried to stop him from helping.

There wasn't a hint of yellow in those eyes, no malicious, vicious intent, no crowing victory or sarcastic glee at the turn of events.

Just pure unadulterated concern.

And suddenly Ford found he couldn't imagine them any other way, nor any other colour.

For the longest time he'd thought they were so alike, the two people he had trusted most in the world. The two entities that had turned his life upside down more than any others.

Two con men, two tricksters. Lie after lie after lie. It had been easy to lump them in together and cast all the faults, all the flaws, at their feet as if they were one and the same.

...And yet, now, he couldn't bring himself to compare them. Not anymore.

There was too much honest feeling in the room, too much honest care where there should be none and he didn't know what to make of it.

Of course his brother wasn't Bill. Of course Stan wouldn't fall for his tricks and lies-

Of course Stan was here, wanting to help him, looking at him like he used to when they were kids and Ford was trying to evade his questions about how he'd got the latest cut or bruise from the bullies in the schoolyard. 

He couldn't bring himself to look at those eyes anymore.

He pulled his gaze away once more, eyes flitting down at himself instead as his knees came up to greet him.

He didn't want Stan there, it was too much, he'd seen too much- he should never have seen that display of weakness-

It was the storm, the storm was doing this, he should just say that. Pull himself together, pull himself away from the comfort because Stan shouldn't be looking at him like that. He should be angry, and blunt, and crude. He should be leaving him to it, telling him that he's not family anymore, just like he had in front of that mirror.

It stung more now, those words. He wanted to rage and snarl. Wanted to push Stan away until he went right back to being the stubborn old man that had brought him through the portal whether he wanted him to or not. The man that had ignored every warning he'd given him and made a mess of everything in the process. Wanted to pull forth that righteous anger he'd been living on since he'd returned. It was so much easier to deal with, so much easier to process than fear and remorse, and the dreaded acceptance that he knew, deep down, that the two versions he now had of his brother were one and the same.

He'd always cared too much. No amount of warnings was going to stop him protecting his brother. No amount of getting hurt in his stead was going to stop him defending him against any bullies that decided he was their next target.

He didn't want to know, didn't want to reconcile the images into one multi-layered person. He wanted to keep up the facade, keep up the lies he'd told himself about his brother because they were so much easier to digest.

He didn't want to see what damage had been caused throughout the years, didn't want to know what all his pretending, all his lies to himself that Stan had been OK on his own, had done.

Or more importantly... hadn't done.

And yet at the same time, he couldn't find it in him to drum up any real anger. Only a cold, old sadness, a lonely emptiness that stretched on for years. No matter how hard he tried to pull himself away, he still found himself clinging to Stan's hand, unable to give up the comfort, unable to truly break the link, burn the last bridge that might have finally formed between them.

Because somewhere deep down, he'd always missed him, and that was the hardest thing to reconcile with of all.

"Hey, now, don't you go back into that big ol' brain of yours, Poindexter."

Ford couldn't look at him, not now. 

He wasn't sure what he'd see, wasn't sure what the storm would let him see.

"C-Come on, bro. I promise, I'm not judging you. Please, you think I've never had a panic attack at the smallest things? You should have seen me when a tourist's car backfired once. Soos was sure I'd had a heart attack." He winced sympathetically, thinking Ford's upset noise was more shame than distress at the notion. "Sorry, thought that'd help, obviously not- just don't tell the kids, alright? And I promise I won't tell them anything either if you don't want me to." He gave Ford's shoulder another tight squeeze, trying to catch his eye again. "Now I think we've got more important things to worry about. Did you hurt yourself?"

"Did I...?" Ford found himself gravitating back to Stan, head slowly turning before his worried expression grew too strong to look at again. "I don't think so."

"...OK." Stan sat down properly in front of him, letting his arm be stolen still for the time being. "Did you bump your head?"

"No." 

Stan breathed another sigh of relief, dragging Ford's attention back to him again. "OK, that's one thing I don't have to worry about. But I did hear glass break, you really didn't cut yourself?"

The words suddenly snapped together, becoming a cohesive sentence as it all finally made sense what Stan was getting at. There was just a second as he breathed in, and what was left off kilter in the room straightened out, the fizzling and crackling thoughts in his head hushing to a soft hum that he could finally ignore. His brother looked painfully relieved at him, so he could only assume he now looked completely present in the room as well as feeling like it. "Oh! Yes- I mean, I think I knocked a drink off the table? But it landed-"

His words vanished as his head slipped to the side, navigating the cold substance that had been soaking into his coat, cold and viscous- only to find no liquid there, no splintered fragments of glass, no remnants of the bottle he had assumed would be there. He ignored the dread seeping through him, turning himself around to glance to the other side of the table, Stan's gaze following his movements as they both looked for any glass close at hand.

"Huh... I swear I heard it..."

"Yeah. Same." Ford gulped, tongue once again thick and heavy in his mouth as he tried to make light of the situation, hoping against hope that Stan hadn't heard anything else. "G-Guess at least it means that we don't have to clear up any glass before the kids come in here."

"That's true, wouldn't want the pair of them running through-" Stan shuddered, mouth twisting sharply into a thin line. "Actually, I'm not even going to go there." 

Ford nodded shakily, not wanting to think about it either. 

"Strange though."

"Hmm?" Ford bit his lip, worrying at it as Stan's face turned thoughtful, confused. He hoped he'd dismiss whatever he was thinking, hoped he'd leave it be instead of broaching whatever else he'd heard.

"I was sure- when the glass smashed. It smelt like brandy, maybe?" He tapped on his chin, still glancing around. "Doesn't make sense. I mean it's not like I keep much of that just lying around."

Ford smiled sheepishly at him, the half tweak to his lips wobbly at best. "If you're offering, I think I could use a drink, actually."

Stan's eyes narrowed at that, his thoughtful expression turning far more serious as his mouth opened. Ford wished he hadn't said anything. If anything, he thought it was only logical after a panic attack that he could use a drink to calm him down.

From the expression Stan was giving him, he seemed to think otherwise, or perhaps there'd been an edge to his voice that hadn't sat well with his brother in that instance.

He watched, nervously as his brother seemed to war with himself, closing his mouth before opening it again, as if he couldn't quite get the words out or figure out what to ask.

Just as his eyes sparked determinedly, his body shifting ever so slightly in that stubborn manner Ford remembered from when they were kids, when he couldn't sit back and watch without joining the fray- the decision was made for him.

An echoing shriek rang out from above them.

The noise cut him off before he even has a chance to ask, the questions abruptly forgotten under the circumstances. Both their heads snapped up to the ceiling as the sound reverberated through the wood, clattering down the stairs and through the hallways in a fit of panic, a shock to the system that for a second held the world in stasis.

And then the bubble popped, the world crashing back around them.

Stan's eyes widened, a fog of fear gasping out of him and Ford felt the tremor throughout his frame as Stan shook.

"Mabel."

Before he had a chance to say anything, Stan wrenched himself away from Ford, leaving behind a cold, hollow, space where he had once been. 

It wasn't long before Ford's brain caught up though, the thunderous footsteps clambering away from him quickly followed as another terrified scream shook him to his core.

 

* * *

 

The sobbing reached his ears before he managed to skid into the room.

"Hey, shh, it's OK, I'm here, I'm here- nothing's going to hurt you, OK? Dipper? Dipper, can you hear me?" 

Ford's eyes glanced over the scene, Stan hovering at the edge of a bed, one hand resting, rubbing soothing motions on Mabel's back as she clutched at his shirt front, hiccupping all the while. He watched his eyes dart frantically around the room though, fleeting glances between the girl at his side and the boy across the room, still in the other bed.

Ford's stomach lurched as he followed his brother's worried gaze, finding Dipper tightly coiled up, hands around his knees, head lodged firmly in the small space, shoulders tight around his ears.

"B-But- there was-" Mabel glanced up from her bed, a full body flinch shaking through her as she saw Ford standing there.

"I-it's just me." Ford put his hands up as Stan spun towards him, fists ready at Mabel's sudden fear. 

"S-sorry." Mabel balled up more, hands still tight in Stan's shirt even at the angle, guilt evident on her face as she took in Ford. "It wasn't- there was someone else there- a minute ago a-and- for a second I thought-"

Stan shushed her quietly, gentle, pacifying noises that if Ford hadn't heard them himself a few moments ago he wouldn't have thought Stan was capable of. His other hand flitted nervously though, grasping uselessly at the air, excess energy that Ford found himself transfixed by, wondering whether it was just adrenaline or something more. "It's OK, there's nothing there, it was a nightmare, I promise it was just a nightmare, and nothing and nobody is going to hurt you. Not while I'm around." Stan gulped, a quick muttered apology escaping him as he picked up Mabel, who squeaked in surprise, shuffling across the room towards Dipper. "Right, Dipper? You know, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, don't you?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, let Mabel cling tight around his neck as his hands went to the boy's back, slow hesitant movements as he hoped not to spook the boy further. "If you both think you saw something, I promise we'll search the whole house until we find it, OK?" 

The room went quiet for a moment, silence reigning as they waited for a response.

In the quiet, there was a soft mumble, a soft hiss of air and with a jolt, Ford realised Dipper had been talking all along, a mantra under his breath that sounded agonisingly familiar now the words rang out clear as day.

"Trust no one, trust no one,  _trust no one_ -"

Mabel's face shifted from fear into alarm, sliding down to sit beside her twin. "Dipper?"

The mantra stuttered, the boy recoiling ever so slightly as the bed sunk close beside him. His head snapped up, taking in Mabel, and Ford found with another painful twist to his gut that the boy seemed to be looking for something in her face, seemed to be waiting for a sign that all wasn't as it should be-

As if he was looking for a glassy yellow tint, just as he had.

Or maybe it wasn't that at all, he knew that mantra off by heart, knew that he had scribbled it on page after page. 

It was so easy to believe, an insidious little whisper. A thought process that gave way to isolation and self destructive tendencies, because if you couldn't trust anyone else how could you sleep? How could you let down your guard for even a moment? No one else understood, no one else could possibly comprehend, and soon the weight of it all crushed what optimism was left.

_Trust no one. Only you- only you can do this._

He didn't want Dipper to turn out like him, paranoid by every shadow, flinching at every movement.

He didn't want him to push his family away. Not when they were there to help.

"M-Mabel? Grunkle Stan?"

Ford watched with a heavy heart, as Dipper glanced between them, eyes growing less feverish by the second. 

He wondered if that's how he'd seemed to Stan, if he'd seemed like a lost, small child who desperately needed someone to prove that the monsters under the bed weren't real. 

Unfortunately, they were real though, and there was only so much Stan could do.

"I-I thought..."

Ford felt something inside him loosen, the tight coil of nervous energy weakening as Dipper let Mabel crush into his side without a flinch. It was a comfort to watch, the pair of them taking solace from one another.

He remembered twins like that once.

"You OK, Dipper?"

Stan's words were quiet, no judgement, no flippancy, just a slow, soft acknowledgement that the world still needed righting.

Dipper gave a wobbly nod before thinking better of it and shaking his head, his sister's smile sad but proud at his side. "I thought I saw- there was a scream and then-"

"That was me, I saw someone in the doorway." Mabel piped up, eyes once again finding Ford and he cursed himself for not moving already. The smile she gave him made his mind falter though, mouth already open apologetically. "Grunkle Ford's standing guard now, though."

"Yeah, that's right. And we didn't pass anyone or see anyone when we came running up, did we?" Stan turned to Ford, face broaching no silence or arguments, though Ford was happy to comply.

"No, there wasn't any signs of a creature incursion either but-"

"There? See?" Stan turned back to the kids, a shield against the outside world, though Ford couldn't help but feel it shielded them from him as well. A spark blossomed inside his chest, indignant hurt and irritation at being cut off feeding the fire as Stan continued. "Nothing to worry about, I promise."

"But..." Dipper bit his lip, glancing at Mabel before up at Stan forlornly. "...But..."

"But... that's not what you saw?" Stan sighed as Dipper shook his head, his fingers gripping tightly into blankets as the man stood. "Right. That settles it then, doesn't it? Either you both have some weird twin nightmare powers-" He ruffled both their heads, getting squawks of protest in response. "-which by the way is a terrifying thought all on its own. Or- something is about that shouldn't be." He nodded, face like thunder as he turned slightly to Ford. "We'll search the house, right? Make sure nothing's inside so these two can go back to sleep?"

Before he could think of a response, Stan's face shifted, the thunder vanishing as two small hands gripped his wrist before he could pull it away. Ford didn't know what to make of the expression. It was as if the motion had physically tugged on Stan's heartstrings, his face unable to hide the flurry of concern and fear as he turned back to the kids who had refused to let him let go of them. "Hey, it's alright. We're just going to look around. Nothing's going to get up here, I promise."

"That's... that's not..."

"You want to come too?" Stan nodded as the pair glanced at each other, a silent conversation quickly held before getting up themselves. "That's fair. Want to see for yourselves that the house is safe before you go back to sleep?"

"Well, we can't let you go on your own, can we?" Dipper managed to slip on a wobbly smile as he jumped out of bed, hand yanked along by Mabel as she dragged him to her side of the room.

"Yeah! Who knows what trouble you'll get yourself into!"

"Oi."

The fizzle of laughter in the air made the tenseness in Ford's shoulders fall. But he knew it couldn't last. He bit down on his lip, worrying at it as another flash of lightning lit the window up across from him. 

Dipper shivered, eyes darting this way and that in the same instance, and it was that that loosened his tongue, pulled forth the words he probably should have said a long time ago.

"It's the storm."

"What was that?" 

The air froze around them, crystalline and deadly as Stan seemed to swivel in place to greet him.

"The storm- it's causing-" Ford gestured half heartedly around them. A deep rumble of thunder accentuated the words, the entire shack shaking beneath their feet with the vibrations, groaning out in pain and anguish at the assault. He gulped, mouth and throat dry as he realised they weren't through the worst of it yet, mind spinning a mile a minute to figure out what to do at the same time as explaining. "Negative emotions. I don't know if it feeds on them or just amplifies them but whatever it is, we've got to move quickly."

"How long?"

The words were colder than the atmosphere.

"Sorry?"

"How long have you known?"

Ford didn't need to say anything for Stan to growl, understanding flashing dangerously across his eyes.

"And you didn't think to say this earlier? Before the storm arrived?"

"I thought- that is, I hoped..."

"What? You thought what?"

Ford snarled as Stan interrupted him, fury pooling in his chest to keep the frostbite at bay. "I hoped it wouldn't be this bad!"

"Wouldn't be this bad? Did you even  _once_  listen to the broadcasts?"

"Yes, but-"

"But what? You thought it might just miss us entirely? When have we ever been that lucky?"

Ford's teeth began to ache with the tenseness in his jaw. " _Stan_. We. Do. Not. Have.  _Time_. For. This." Each word was said with slow deliberation, dripping with poison that made the kids cower ever so slightly at the display.

He couldn't seem to stop himself though, the heated embers too close to igniting to ignore and the stark knowledge that he was right, and they needed to get going, fuelling every moment. "Now, listen to me. We need to move. We need to get where this storm can't get to us before any of us see or hear anything more that this blasted thing drags up. You can agree with that, right?" His eyes locked to Stan's, darting quickly to the kids to make sure he got the hint, before freezing him in place once more.

"....Alright, fine. What do you have in mind?"

"The basement."

"Ex _cuse_  me-"

"Stan, do not argue with me, just move. If we had a choice, I'd get us to the bunker in the woods. It's far deeper underground where the storm definitely wouldn't get to us. As it is, the basement is our best bet. Kids, come along." Ford gestured beside him, the kids glancing up one more time at Stan before darting forward, both of them assured by Ford's words.

Stan, however, had yet to be swayed. "Our best bet means you have no idea if it'll work."

"No, but it's all we've got. Now are you coming or what?" Ford sighed, frustrated exasperation misting out of his lips into the cold. Stan still hadn't budged, jaw tight and arms locked across his chest.

If Ford had been more observant in that moment, he might have seen the unease hidden behind the defensive stance.

"You think it'll keep it at bay for the kids?"

" _Yes_. Now come on-"

"Then you should go down there, kids. Do what he says." Stan nodded out the door, eyes on the twins instead of his brother. "I'll let you know when it's all blown over."

"You- what-" The anger cooled quickly under abject confusion, Stan's face a complete mask devoid of any readable emotion as he shooed them away. 

It was Dipper scurrying back, alarmed and fretful, that made the anger bloom again, thick and fast.

They didn't have time for this. 

"Stan. Will you stop being such a-" The words were strangled as Ford pushed Dipper back, stomping into the room to grab at his brother, pushing him towards the door. "Insufferable, stubborn- I am trying to help you!"

"Maybe I don't want-"

"Grunkle Stan?"

The pair of them paused, a small hand tight on Stan's trouser leg, halting all their motions.

Mabel glanced up at him, her eyes wide with concern, face upset and scared. "Grunkle Stan, you should come down too."

Stan sighed, a defeated noise that Ford wanted to crow at, but he knew it wasn't victory quite yet. "Why's that, kid?"

"Cause I don't want to go down without you?"

The small hand loosened from his leg, gathering up his hand instead and slowly began to pull him forward.

Ford was surprised when unlike him, she had little resistance to her actions, the gruff old man walking after her with only a sour expression to show his displeasure. 

Still, it wasn't fast enough and he found himself shepherding them along, ignoring his brother's hackles rising with every insistent push he gave to his back. "Quickly, quickly, we don't have time for all this childish behaviour. You can be grumpy and stubborn all you want once the storm's blown over. Until then, will you just listen and do as I say?"

There was no response to his words, just his brother's jaw setting tighter, eyes locked down towards the floor, shoulders up around his ears. His head moved every so often, skimming back and forth between the kids, checking Dipper was at his side every few seconds as their pace quickened but he never once made a move that he had even heard his brother, refused to look towards him.

Ford rolled his eyes, quietening down as he pushed them on. It was a win, nevertheless. 

At least he was doing as he was told, at least they were speeding up.

The vending machine felt like a breath of fresh air when it came into view, a reprise from the sweltering storm and even frostier atmosphere.

He swiftly opened the door, ushering them in before him. His words and actions turned sharp as Stan began to stall again, thin lipped scowl offering no argument as his brother deflated and walked ahead of him.

_Was that so hard?_

Ford grit his teeth as his brother descending the staircase, waiting for them all to be at the bottom before he followed. It was colder with every step, dank and dreary, and a grey that he'd almost forgotten. At one point this had been his haven, and though the edge of his paranoia fizzled at the edges of his mind, all the things that had gone so wrong down here, it felt like maybe it could be again. The rain and howling wind had become muffled, a soft hush that was soon eclipsed by his own thudding footsteps. There were no flashes of disorientating lightning, no bright slashes of colour interspersed with solid unyielding darkness.

Constant. Logical. Reasonable. The world once more back on course as it should be. 

This he could deal with.

"Ugh, how could this place be any better than upstairs?"

He came to the bottom of the stairs, Stan's stone back towards him, hands balled up tight into fists at his sides. There was a flickering disdain, a warble of disgust through his voice that Ford couldn't help but be indignant at, another vexing sigh leaving him as his eyebrows furrowed.

He might be able to deal with their current predicament, but he could tell already that Stan was going to make it just that much harder for them to get out of it unscathed.

They didn't need a supernatural storm to be at each other's throats.

"Come on, Grunkle Stan. Grunkle Ford says it’s the best place we've got." Dipper's voice held an optimistic lilt that Ford knew he wasn't capable of, pure frustration at his brother's brooding leaving him unable to process any comforting remarks.

Why did he have to make everything so much more difficult?

Stan's words turned darker, an utterance he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear. 

"If he'd told us in the first place, this wouldn't  _be_  our only option. But  _no_ , we can't be trusted."

The spark ignited, heat fizzling through him as he stomped towards his brother and shoved him forward, his balance fumbling forward with the unexpected assault. "Will you just give it a rest already, Stan?"

Stan snarled, spinning to face him. "No! Why should I- If you had just told us in the first place we wouldn't be in this mess! We wouldn't be stuck down here in this god awful-"

Ford saw red. 

The kids abruptly vanished from his peripheral as his vision tunnelled, honed in on his brother.

"This is your fault, not mine!" Ford growled back, shoving him again, dead centre to his chest and Stan stumbled, caught up by his words.

"Excuse me? Wha- How on Earth is this-" Stan's words were spluttered, reproachful and infuriated. 

"Because we wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't opened that portal! Just like I warned you about." Shove. Stan's face shifted, falling into slack-jawed shock as he took the brunt of Ford's fury. "This is a by product. A side effect of you ignoring every goddamn warning you're given and doing what you wanted instead, as per usual. It's all you ever do. Do you ever think? Ever? Just for a second, that maybe your actions have consequences?" 

He slammed into him again, violent, bitter wrath made into one physical movement and he felt his brother go. Felt him slip without even trying to save himself and crash land on the floor in a heap.

Ford panted above him, fury spent, the red from his gaze fading, but it still fizzled beneath the surface, still pumped through his bloodstream and made the silence that much more tinny around him.

"This is your fault. Not mine."

He waited, the world slowing to a crawl as his brother stayed where he'd been thrown. He expected him to scramble up, he expected gnashing teeth and a fierce anger to match his own. He'd expected them in headlock, old stubborn rams battering against one another until they were just too tired to continue the fight. 

He'd expected vicious words in response, everything thrown back at him that he'd already heard before, how he'd only wanted to bring him back, how he'd asked for help as he'd been dragged through, how his warnings hadn't been clear- he knew all the excuses, all the signs, and none of them were good enough. He wanted to tear the arguments all apart, make his brother realise what he had done, what his actions could have caused. He wanted to tell him about the rift, wanted him to know how close they had come to destroying everything all because he couldn't just leave things be.

He needed him to feel the weight of it all, just as he did, every day.

Maybe he wasn't like Bill, but his actions still had consequences and somehow, after more than 40 years his brother still hadn't learnt that.

But truthfully, if he pushed all the snarling thoughts aside- he just wanted an outlet for all the emotion that was swirling up and crackling through him like a maelstrom.

It didn't matter who it was. 

His brother was just the easiest target, one that would always clash with him. An age old feud that neither of them would ever win. Too set in their ways, in their view of the world. 

It was that knowledge that stopped the shame from bubbling up, the guilt and self-loathing that this was his own brother he was taking it out on.

Stan gave as good as he got, that was just the way it was now.

_So, why isn't he getting up?_

The beat of his heart was slowing, all his words ringing in the air with no response to match them for heat and temperance. Just his brother sat quietly on the floor, head down so he couldn't fathom his expression. Ford's fists loosened at his sides, the kids still hushed beside him, as if shocked into silence by his fury but he couldn't pay them any mind when his brother still hadn't jumped up to lash back out at him. 

Was he... actually contemplating his words?

"Grunkle Stan?"

The words were soft, quiet but full of worry. The voice drenched him, ice cold guilt flushing out the warm embers that had been flickering still at his core.

This... wasn't right. Nothing about this was right. 

Just as he was about to say something, he heard it. 

Just a whisper, a cold draught whistling through the cracks in the earth as his brother still sat there, head bowed, face encased in shadows.

Ford felt his shoulders relax, the soft hissing at least a response. "What was that, Stan? Come on. If you've got something to say, you can say it to me. Just get it all out in the open." He huffed, tired exasperation taking over as Stan continued to mutter under his breath, short sharp words that he really wished he'd just throw back at him, burn him in kind just as badly.

_As far as I'm concerned, they're the only family I have left._

Cut through him in ways he hadn't known would still hurt. 

His jaw ached as he bit at his tongue, eyes scrutinising his brother as if he was being particularly vindictive with his reaction.

"This is getting ridiculous, Stan-"

_"You did what, you knucklehead?_

Ford frowned, the words puncturing through the fog that had still been present. They snapped through, vicious biting words barely loud enough to hear as he scurried forward ever so slightly, listening intently.

That hadn't sounded like Stan.

"What was that?"

A loud crack echoed through the area, ricocheting off the walls in a clatter of sound that made him flinch, head snapping up to check the floor above them even as he took a hesitant step forward again. 

Ford's frown deepened. There was no way they should be able to hear the thunder, not this far down-

_"All you do is lie and cheat, and ride on your brother's coattails- well not anymore!"_

Ford froze, his breath ghosting out of him as realisation hit.

It hadn't been thunder. It had been a door slamming.

He found himself slowly gravitating back towards his brother, his presence a looming dark shadow in his peripheral as the dots began to connect.

_"You're not welcome in this household!"_

The voice was obvious now, growing in strength and disgusted loathing. 

Their father might as well have been sat at Stan's side, spitting hateful words right into his ear as he sat there and took the brunt force of it all, breathing hitching with every insult.

He never had argued with their father.

"S-Stan-" Ford's throat felt like a constricting band, tongue thick and heavy, useless in his mouth. "Stan- that's not- he's not here."

He tried not to pay any mind to the voice that said Stan had been right, that this place was no better than upstairs.

The storm could still reach them.

Any remaining chance he had at getting a complete sentence out was thoroughly crushed as Stan shuddered at his voice, turned away from him as if Ford's presence physically pained him.

It only got worse then.

_"Selfish? I'm selfish?"_

The whispers changed, a familiar voice echoing out that he couldn't deny even as his throat stuck fast with glue.

" _I'm giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won't even listen!"_

Ford winced, biting down hard on his tongue to stop the shame-filled whine from escaping.

He couldn't let the storm get to him too, couldn't let it fester and rise up, not when Stan was beginning to shake, body slowly curling inwards.

_"This is your fault. Not mine."_

And in an awful moment of clarity he realised the storm already had got to him. 

He was angry, yes, but he'd never wanted to take it out on Stan.

Not like that.

In a moment of anger he might say things, even things he didn't mean, but he would never purposefully push his brother's buttons to get a rise- not without help from another force.

He took another step forwards, footfall ringing through with a loud thud and Stan's head snapped up to greet his.

Ford wasn't sure what to make of the desperation, bright and gleaming in his eyes.

_"All your fault. Worthless- can't do anything but lie and cheat. All you ever do is ruin everything-"_

Stan panted before him, breathing hitching as a whirlwind of whispers engulfed them both.

Stan's lips didn't move and yet the words spluttered out as if his mind couldn't contain them, his father's words, his brother's words, jumbling up in a heated mess of insidious insinuations, ringing through in his own voice now.

" _Mistake after mistake, that's all you ever do. You'll never amount to anything because you can't do anything right. Even when you try and help you just mess everything up-"_

The wind around them seemed to swirl, a crack somewhere letting the storm in where they should be safe.

_"It's your fault, your fault he's gone and you're never going to get him back. You can't, how could you ever think you'd be capable of bringing him home again-"_

He understood now, clear as day as he watched Stan's eyes dart fleetingly around the room, no source of comfort to be had wherever he looked.

_"You're not smart enough. Nothing makes sense. Why do you keep trying? Why don't you just give up already?"_

This small, dark space had been his burden for thirty years. The room where all of his insecurities, his doubts flared and spun around him. The room where he had lost his brother, in more ways than one.

He hadn't been worried that the storm could still reach them down here. 

He was worried the room would amplify it.

Ford gulped past the lump of lead in his throat, eyes still glued to his brother, his gruff, stoic, stubborn mule of a brother as he sat with his arms around his legs, vulnerable and alone in his own head.

A child so very far from home.

Lost to the storm.

_"It would be better for everyone if you just gave up already."_

But it wasn't the storm on its own. It wasn't even the room on its own.

It had been Ford that caused this. It was him that hadn't listened this time, him that had brought his brother down here against his will, set his teeth on edge at being stuck down here once more when he thought he was finally free of it.

It was him that had pushed him, had snapped back at his gnawing fear, reminded him of words and arguments that should have been left well enough alone. Brought them all to the light where they were now swirling and fizzling for everyone to see.

If he'd just calmed down, if he'd just let Stan vent instead of lashing back at him.

Stan hadn't known what was going on, he'd had a point- if only he'd told them sooner, actually given them a chance to prepare, maybe none of this would have happened.

He could have been comforting, he could have tried to see it from Stan's point of view. His twin had been angry because the kids had been scared, worried that someone had been inside the house and tried to hurt them, could still hurt them, when Ford had known all along that wasn't the case but hadn't thought to tell him.

He'd just had a nightmare of his own, just relived old memories of pain and fear, long past stormy seas that had rushed up to greet him. He'd been trying his best to force them down, keep himself afloat, keep himself from drowning under all the things he'd tried so hard to keep hidden from view.

Pushed through just enough to keep them all afloat with him.

Self disgust wormed its way into Ford's stomach then, pulsed through him in waves.

His brother had comforted him through a panic attack, with no idea what was going on other than a storm, even after an ordeal of his own.

And even when his brother had been visibly uncomfortable, had pushed to stay up alone in the house instead of venture into the basement with them, he hadn't been able to think that maybe, just maybe there was a reason behind it all.

_"You deserve this."_

Ford blinked as the voice echoed out to him, eyes wide and shocked as he zoned back into his brother. The voice morphed and twisted, one second his own and one second Stan's. It shifted and slithered, reverberating with voices he didn't know and their father's vicious growl right at the end.

But Stan wasn't looking at him anymore, his eyes were downcast, glazed over slightly as his hand tightened on his shoulder.

Ford's heart broke, a twinge of pain sparking through him.

He didn't deserve this. No matter how angry he was, Stan didn't deserve any of this.

But he didn't know what to do to help. They couldn't go back upstairs, that would make everything worse.

The storm was muffled down here, the whispers coming through a filter of earth and mud and stone.

It wasn't enough, not by any means but at least it was something.

He just wished he knew how to get Stan back with them instead, bring him back from the brink and keep him there where the storm couldn't reach him.

...If only they'd had one civil conversation since he'd been back so that Stan might actually believe a word he said instead of the voices in his head.

The ones that sounded an awful lot like him and an awful lot like he didn't want to sound anymore.

"That's enough."

Ford blinked, his vision abruptly impeded by a head full of brown locks.

He glanced down at the wide open arms before him, at the small sharp glare he was receiving from a girl that always had smiles for him.

He hated it, hated how her lip wobbled and her frame shook even as she refused to move out of the way, eyes gleaming and bright with determination.

A shield.

A shield against him.

He couldn't swallow around the lump in his throat, as it grew larger and larger with every passing thought.

Had it really looked like he was going to continue arguing?

Did it really look like he hadn't realised that-

He shifted ever so slightly, awkward and lost, and Mabel's eyes steeled further, her shaking stopping as she pulled herself to her full height, hands on her hips.

"I said, that's enough."

God, she sounded like their Ma.

Ford nodded, pulling back in agreement. Not much, but just enough to appease her.

Maybe it was best to leave this job to her, but he found he didn't want to stray too far. He needed to know just as much as she did that Stan was OK.

Stan was already shifting though, his eyes less glazed and more present as they caught onto Mabel. He was sitting up quickly, running a hand through his hair with an awkward half smile that didn't quite reach his eyes or hide the fresh sheen of sweat across his brow.

"W-whoops, I should really watch where I'm walking, right? I'm fine, pumpkin. Just a bit stiff."

"Grunkle Stan..."

Ford winced as Stan did, but he couldn't help but mostly be relieved that he was back with them. He seemed awkward, nervous even, and it took more time than Ford was willing to admit for him to realise that the fear of Mabel hearing his inner most insecurities was stronger than the voices themselves.

Stan wouldn't let the voices win, wouldn't let them bubble out, all because he didn't want to worry them.

He just hoped for his sake that neither of them had heard anything they shouldn't have already.

He almost wished he hadn't heard them himself.

It was hard to connect the insecurities to his brother's outward attitude, let alone think about him suffering through them all alone. Containing them where no one else could see. Let them bottle and brew, fester and fever, always there below the surface.

Hid them all in the basement where no one else could see them.

Ford bit his lip, leaning back on his haunches.

No wonder he hadn't wanted to come down here. 

Not with them, not where all his fears and thoughts could be laid bare to be judged, to be seen.

He closed his eyes, a painful, sharp hiss emanating from him.

Stan had known. Subconsciously, maybe, but he'd still known deep down.

After all, he'd probably weathered the last storm down here.

Working away, night after night. He wouldn't have left this basement much, would have been too hellbent on getting Ford back.

He wondered how loud the whispers had gotten back then. How many voices had ricocheted off steel to stab into his waiting chest?

How many ghosts had slipped through the dark foreboding skeleton of the portal, gleeful and willing to tear him to shreds as he stood lost and alone, feverish and exhausted?

How many times had he heard Ford screaming out for help only for it to twist into snarling heated words that he had never done and would never would do anything worthwhile in his entire life?

What had he seen every time he tried to close his eyes and get a moments rest?

Ford swallowed, his hands shaking.

Bill had been right, he didn't need to hang around for someone to tear themselves apart at the seams.

They could do that all on their own.

"It's just the storm."

Three heads turned to the new voice, Dipper shuffling nervously from foot to foot at the scrutiny. "Y-you said it fed, or brought up all kinds of bad emotions, right? So, we just need to- to calm down and not let it get to us, right?"

"Right." Mabel nodded before either of the adults could respond, her eyes darting between the pair hopefully before returning to fussing her Grunkle. "It's just the storm causing all that anger, that's all. It's messing with your heads." She faltered ever so slightly, before steeling herself and ignoring whatever had tripped her up. "Yeah, you'll be laughing and apologising tomorrow! Just you wait. I wanna see some hugs, you hear?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

Ford nodded as Dipper chimed in, a hint of a threat in his voice. He turned to him, ever so slightly, saw he was being watched hawkishly. He wondered what the pair had seen, whether they truly thought it was the storm or thought he was capable of- he grimaced at the thought, nodding more assuredly at the boy in a moment of clarity.

The nod in return soothed him, gave him hope that maybe this could be fixed.

"Heh, what would I do without you two, hey?"

Ford found himself moving without thought, sparks fizzling through his nerves as he watched Stan smile at least a fraction more genuinely. He ruffled Mabel's hair, giving a groan as he stood. 

"See?" Mabel's eyes brightened, turning back to Dipper with a grin. "Just the storm. Everything's gonna be OK."

Stan's eyes found Ford's for a second, just a fleeting glance before his face shut down. He gave a scoff as Mabel scurried away, a hint of defensive embarrassment and shame colouring his face and his words.

Ford winced, wondering if he'd seemed pitying instead of sympathetic.

"Yeah. Just the storm, right, Sixer?"

Ford found he couldn't respond as Stan stalked away from him, forlorn and hurt by the sarcastic poison laced through his tone.

It wasn't like he'd believe him if he told the truth anyway.

 

* * *

 

The dark presence didn't ebb at all as they waited impatiently for the storm to blow over.

Ford found himself working on autopilot, finding a safe, somewhat comfortable, spot for the kids that wasn't strewn with torn up machinery. He brushed up a quick circle, cleared away any remaining shards of plastic and twisted metal that had scattered with his rather forceful disassembly of the portal and hoped that it would be enough, just for the night.

He'd even scurried around frantically until he'd found them a small heater, anything to keep the cold back after forcefully dragging them down here without a chance to bring down anything warm with them.

Luckily for him, the kids didn't seem up to complaining, both better behaved and mild mannered in response to their heated displays.

He couldn't help but wince at the thought.

How had it become so skewed? When kids acted grown up and their guardians acted like small children?

His thoughts weren't helped by the image that kept flashing behind his eyes. His brother curled up on the floor, small and vulnerable and devoid of the spark that made him him.

That wasn't the kind of 'childish' behaviour he ever wanted to see again.

He gulped, giving the room another wide sweeping arc from where he sat, a small distance from the twins. They were content to entertain themselves, both coming up with strange nonsensical things that he couldn't quite keep up with. At one point he'd been sure Mabel was designing new sweater ideas, Dipper piping up with silly little exaggerated additions that were less than practical from Ford's point of view but Mabel seemed to lap them up, making the ideas bigger and better with every moment. But then something had shifted in the conversation and he wasn't entirely convinced whether they were trying to come up with artwork for said clothing, or just describing the strangest creatures they could imagine. If Ford was honest though, for all he knew, they might have been describing some of Stan's strange exhibits, or perhaps designing some for him. Whatever the conversation was, it seemed to be working for them though, both of them smiling softly, giggling over the bantering jokes they were throwing between themselves as they tore down each suggestion and made it worse with every telling.

At least they seemed relatively unscathed by their predicament.

Ford found it hard to swallow again as his arc of the room stopped abruptly, his gaze swinging back to the centre. He'd chosen his spot in the hopes of keeping them all in his sights, close enough to all of them if they needed him but with his back to the wall as a safety measure so that nothing could sneak up on him. He'd assumed a great deal of things, for instance the kids doing as they were told, safe in the knowledge that he knew what he was doing, maybe questioning him but only as a distraction to them all. 

That had mostly happened without a hitch, Dipper's curiosity of the basement getting the better of him but not before Mabel interrupted and asked a myriad of questions he couldn't begin to answer- he hadn't really had a colour scheme in mind when he'd built his control room and Mabel had been mildly appalled at the thought.

Maybe that was why they were chatting about designs... he just hoped there wasn't too much glitter involved. 

He'd still like to be able to read his notes through it.

There were other assumptions that hadn't been quite so correct, however.

Like assuming that Stan wouldn't leave the kids' sides for barely a second.

Like assuming that he'd hear his gruff voice telling bad puns for most of the evening in an attempt to keep the kids' spirits up, or tell them silver tongued stories that they'd never believe but still be happy to hear anyway.

Anything really, rather than- well,  _this_.

The room had been cold to begin with, colder still with the argument lingering over them like a guilt ridden cloud. 

But now, with the silence- from someone who always had something to say, would run his mouth off no matter how much it could get him into trouble, had probably gotten himself out of trouble with his words more times than he could count- the cold was that much more daunting. More frosty, charred with ash and burned with ice, a billowing biting cold that set his teeth on edge, burrowing deep into his core to settle there and sent his hackles rising in defence.

It just wasn't right. His brother was the sociable one, his brother was the showman, the trickster, ready to pin a smile on his face at the drop of a hat for any stranger that wound up at his door. 

So why was it him, between the two of them that was sat alone, right where the portal used to be, closed off, disconnected from his family?

Why was he sat, silently on his own, when he needn't be? When they were right there, the family he said he would do anything for?

He knew the reason, of course he did, what he didn't know was why he wasn't asking them for help.

Not even asking, really. He didn't understand why he wasn't sat with the kids, feeding off their confidence, their security that they were in safe hands. Helping them feel better and at the same time helping himself.

_"What would I do without you two, hey?"_

He just wished he'd do something, anything really. 

Anything other than fight all alone.

It was like a physical, tangible presence, the darkness around his twin. He couldn't hear the whispers from where he sat. Just a hiss and snarl every so often, indistinct but vicious and pointed. It was sharp though, jagged and torn, whatever it was that fell around Stan like an unwanted cloak. Out of the corner of his eye he would watch him. Moments of straight backed defiance, fighting back with everything he had, only to deflate, to hunch inwards, fingernails indenting deep into palms as white knuckled fists formed.

And then he would jolt himself up, the whispers seeping back into the smog around him, his eyes landing on the kids, wide and alarmed, fearful that they had heard the voices baying for his blood. 

Whatever was looming, whatever memories were bubbling up from the carefully constructed dams he had built, he didn't want them to see, didn't want them to know.

Ford couldn't bring himself to look at him, not when he was trying so desperately to hide the weakness.

He didn't want to make things worse.

But he had no idea how to make things better either.

_"You deserve this."_

The words hit him like a freight train, knocking the wind out of him in a frost of guilt ridden pain. The horrible, painful, loathsome words that he hadn't had chance to refute earlier reared up inside of him and, suddenly he understood. He knew, exactly why Stan wasn't asking for help.

_...I'm such a fool._

Because why would Ford help him? Why on Earth would he want to help him?

Especially when deep within his own mind, Stan thought that, really, he deserved all of this.

Ford stumbled to his feet, the kids’ voices hushing abruptly at the sudden movement. But other than a quick gesture and soft smile, to keep them calm, he paid them no mind, eyes and thoughts locked to his brother who so desperately needed someone to keep him afloat throughout the storm. 

He made quick work of the room, hesitating only when Stan continued to stare at the ground instead of up at him, fists tight against his knees as he breathed heavily. "Stan?"

No response.

He swallowed, his heart hammering in his throat as he took the initiative, sitting down beside his brother, sliding up right beside him so that his side pressed against his. Physical contact, a shield for him to use, just like he had done for him, grounding him to reality and away from his own thoughts.

Ford took it as a good sign when Stan didn't flinch.

Even if he still wouldn't look at him, eyes locked downwards, subdued and dejected.

"Stan, I'm-"

"I'm sorry."

Ford blinked, the soft voice somehow sharp, laced with pain and remorse, stopping him in his tracks. "I- what?"

"I'm sorry." Stan sighed, scrubbing hands across his face and knocking his glasses askew at the same time. "I didn't mean to-"

"Is this about earlier?" Ford gulped, heart hammering away against his ribs. "Because- I shouldn't have... that is to say if I had just told you earlier about the storm then..." He tilted his head as Stan started to shake his, not sure how to refute the argument when he didn't know what his twin was apologising for. "Then- I'm not following, Stan."

Stan groaned, peeking through the gaps in his fingers at him, as if willing him to just understand before the words burst out of him, no longer containable. Ford winced at the hiccup behind them, the warble of pain, wishing that he'd realised sooner and not let the storm fester for quite so long.

"I'm just _sorry_ , OK?" Stan found he couldn't look at him again. He slumped, elbows dropping to his knees as his words became muffled by his palms. "I get it now, alright? I get why you were so angry with me. I get why- I mean-" He gulped, tongue sticking in his mouth as if the words pained him to say them.

"I'm sorry for bringing you back."

Ford felt his heart stop.

No, it was more than that, he felt hollow, the words biting to his core.

He didn't know why they stung, but they did, a perspective he'd never really taken into account.

Stan's eyes flicked back to him, and whatever he saw there made his own expression war with itself. 

"I mean- I... I don't know what I mean. I guess, I'm sorry that I brought you back if you really didn't want to be back. I'm sorry for ignoring or not noticing the warnings you were giving me. I'm sorry for-" His breathing hitched, face turning towards the kids, guilt written in every line. "I never meant to put the kids in danger. I wasn't meant to get you back at the expense of-"

"Stan, you haven't-"

"But I have, haven't I? You said it yourself." Stan hunched into himself further, eyes back to the floor. "If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't even be having this storm. You wouldn't be having a panic attack in the kitchen and the kids wouldn't be waking up screaming. And even then, all I did was argue with you." 

Ford felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a cold wind whistling over him as Stan laughed, a horrible mocking parody of his usual jovial mirth.

"God, I can never quit while I'm ahead, can I? I just always make things worse. No matter how hard I try to do something good, or right, I always make things worse."

"Hey, now-"

Stan shook himself at the voice, latching back on to Ford. "Sorry, that's- I'm not trying to..." He gestured around him, searching for answers, for the words to appear out of thin air before giving up. "It doesn't matter, ignore that last bit. You weren't meant to hear that bit." His mouth tweaked up, wry and full of ironic dark humour. "Guess I got the storm to thank for that."

He put his hand up as Ford went to speak again, eyebrows furrowed as he struggled past a block, a wall inside his own head that Ford wished desperately to break down there and then. "I'm not finished. There was something else, something important I needed to apologise for- you know, other than the obvious things from years ago. Something recent that..."

"Stan, it's OK. I get it, please stop-"

"No, I need to-" He snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up victoriously before dimming just as fast, the failure found within his spinning vortex of a memory at that moment. "Oh. Yeah..."

Ford found himself pressing closer to his brother's side, not liking how he didn't budge, didn't reciprocate or turn away. Not liking how every other word out of his brother's brash mouth was  _sorry_ , the storm no longer showing him horrors but pulling up all his failures for him to see in stark contrast, a reel of film that only showed his worst moments.

At least Ford had monsters to blame his nightmares on, Stan seemed to blame himself more than anything.

He had made mistakes, but Bill had led him there. Manipulated, tricked him. He knew he had a part to play, his guilt had driven him on many a night, but the anger and bitterness had fuelled him too, reminded him that it wasn't just his doing.

What did Stan have? 

And as Ford wondered that, he realised that he didn't know. He didn't know what monsters lay in wait for his brother every night. 

Who else haunted his dreams, if not just his brother and his father? 

The gunshots rang through his head again, screeching tyres through a clattering din of rain and he couldn't come up with anything, any theory or pretence as to why Stan had been in that situation in the first place.

All he really knew was that he had been alone- scared and alone, running for his life. 

And that was never a place he'd ever wanted his brother to be in.

And it wasn't right, none of it was. His brother wasn't meant to blame himself, he was meant to come up with excuses. Lie and cheat and pretend that his world ran smoothly. 

Push all his issues, all his problems on to someone else, pretend that he was fine and that it was everyone else that had the problems.

That's how Ford had vindicated his anger at him, his stubborn refusal to take the blame was what had pushed him to continue his anger.

But the storm didn't change people, it only amplified what was already there.

And whilst maybe he could blame the storm for his brother's sudden bout of honesty-

He couldn't deny that it was honest.

This was genuine, this was a side of himself that his brother kept locked away. 

Probably because the guilt would kill him if he didn't.

Hid it under layer upon layer of masks, smiles and lies running off his tongue like water, silver washed and so hard to see through. Locked it tight behind eyes that crinkled with his laughter. Lost it under all of his aliases, each terrible thing happening to another person in another time until he could almost believe it himself.

Ford didn't want him to feel like he had to hide anymore. Not from him.

All the anger had fizzled into nothing, ash and smoke cooling, blown away by the wind and he could see him again. See the boy behind all the masks, the one who had stood by his side through thick and thin.

Had run to his side as soon as he called, even after ten years alone.

The man who had spent thirty years trying to get him home again without respite.

Sure, he'd made mistakes, but so had he. They'd both had a hand to play in every single fight they'd had. They both hadn't communicated, hadn't listened, over and over again, a loop of pain that they seemingly couldn't escape from.

Only here was his brother, trying his best to communicate, trying his best to show he had listened and that he understood and that he was  _sorry_  for all the mistakes he had made.

And he found in that instance, he didn't want to lose him again.

"Bro-"

"I'm sorry for saying you weren't family."

Ford blinked, Stan's words cutting through his without any issue. He hadn't really known what he was going to say anyway and Stan's interruption threw him for a loop once more. "I- what?"

Stan gulped, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. "I should never have said that. You'll always be my brother, Ford, no matter what. Even if you don't want me around at the end of summer and you don't want to see me again in general- that won't ever change. And I'm sorry for saying otherwise."

A tightness in Ford's chest loosened with the words, the band of steel that had cut deep into his heart and left him all the more bitter for it, rusted and tarnished until it fell apart at the seams.

Stan hadn't meant it.

He'd just been angry too. 

There was a chance, a chance that maybe they could fix this, if they really tried.

But another coil tightened around him instead, a sadness that flooded through him, ice cold and shame laced.

Stan had said those things because he 'd told him to leave, because he couldn't sit him down, there and then, and tell him exactly what opening the portal could have done. 

He'd given him an ultimatum, and it had broken his brother's heart to know that nothing he had done had fixed anything between them.

Of course, he'd been angry.

After all, he'd been angry too, hurt by Stan telling him to stay away from the kids. He'd wanted to hurt him as much as he'd hurt him in that moment.

And really, didn't that just sum them up? Both of them too hurt and sad to see what was happening on the other side of the argument, both of them snapping and snarling and making it worse because it was the only thing they seemed to know how to do now?

Well, not anymore.

Once upon a time, they'd had so much more than that, been so much more. Thick as thieves, them against the world and Ford didn't want him to leave before he'd at least tried to patch up something between them.

He was his twin, after all, he was his brother.

And Stan's words were ringing through his head, honest and self assured and he couldn't help but agree wholeheartedly with them.

_"You'll always be my brother, no matter what."_

"So yeah, that's- that's about it, I think. I just wanted you to know all of that before..." Stan shrugged, hands still twisting together anxiously. "Before- whatever I guess, the end of summer? While we were down here? I- I dunno, I just needed you to know."

Why was it so hard to respond?

"That's- I mean- Stan, I think I should say some things too."

Stan's head shot up, filled will alarm, nervous and scared and before he could dissuade the notion, a small voice piped up beside them.

"Hey, you two, what are you doing all the way over here?"

Stan jumped, jolting away from Ford as if he burned. "H-hey, sweetie, what are you up to? Shouldn't you stay over where it's warm?"

"Yeah but-" She gestured behind her to Dipper watching just as worriedly. "Why aren't you two too?"

"Ah- oh- uhm." Stan sat himself up, mask slipping back on though it was crooked, half a smile wobbling across his face until he gave up on it and gave her an honest huff of defeat. "Honestly, pumpkin? There's just a few things in my head I'd rather you two didn't hear, that's all."

"So, instead you're sitting over here in the cold?"

Stan gave a laugh at her sceptical, affronted words. "Yeah, I guess so. Cold doesn't bother me that much anyway. But you should really go keep warm before you catch a cold. We'll- I'll be fine over here." His expression changed, a softness that only seemed to alarm Mabel more. "Please? I really don't want you to hear something you shouldn't, poppet."

Mabel huffed at him, an irritated noise as she frowned, no argument forthcoming to respond with.

Ford felt Stan settle down beside him, relaxing ever so slightly that maybe by being honest she'd accept his request and leave him be.

"You said please."

Stan laughed, a bubble of almost hysterical barks. "Yeah, guess I did. First time for everything, right?"

Mabel nodded, her gaze still scanning over them, frown slowly turning musing.

"Mabel?"

She nodded again, only half listening before her eyes lit up.

She snapped her fingers, exclaiming victoriously.

And then in a blink of an eye, sprinted back towards the basement entrance.

"Mabel?!"

"Mabel, what are you doing?"

Dipper's shout in amongst theirs did nothing for their nerves as the old men sprang up from their seat. If he didn't know what was going on, there was no telling what exactly she was about to do.

As it was, her running up the steps towards the house, did nothing to soothe Ford's pounding heart.

"Mabel, you shouldn't go back up there- not until-"

"I'll be right back, I promise."

Ford shook his head, catching Stan's fearful gaze beside him. "You, stay here. I'll go get her. No use all of us going back up there."

"But-"

"No, no buts." Ford pushed down heavily on Stan's shoulder, pushing past him as he went.

It was bad enough that the storm was still reaching him down here, he wasn't about to let him go back upstairs where the full force of it could hit him once more.

He ignored any more arguments, running towards the bottom of the steps, just to see Mabel coming back to the door, lugging something heavy and unyielding in her arms. "Mabel, what are you-"

"See? I told you I'd be right back. Luckily this was right where I left it." Mabel beamed at him from the top of the steps, the large metal box beside her thumping down on every step as she went. 

Ford blinked as she didn't stop to explain, pushing past him and continuing to run about, grabbing her brother to help her as she set up the contraption in the corner of the room. 

Apparently, the boy didn't need an explanation to help her in her task, a feat he very much wished he was also privy to as he stood there lost, at the bottom of the stairs, wondering quite how many times the world was going to fall out from under him tonight.

"There! I think we've got it, bro!"

A wavering note crossed the room towards him moments after her happy shout. It grew louder as she turned the dial, the room echoing and ringing with music that drowned out any remnants of the storm. Once she was satisfied with it all, she turned back to Stan, her voice loud and ringing. "There! How's that?"

"Uhh, kid, I'm not following."

Mabel huffed again, rushing over to him to tug at his arm, dragging him over to the small circle where the heater was as she spoke. "Well, now there's no chance we'll hear any of the whispers, even you, Grunkle Stan."

Ford watched as Stan's face went slack, shocked pride flooding over him as he straightened up and let her pull him over with little fight. "I'm not sure that's how it works, sweetie."

"Nonsense. We just have to be positive and try our best with what we've got. It's been working for me and Dipper so far."

"She has a point, Grunkle Stan. You should just sit down before she finds a way to make you."

Booming laughter filtered through the room as Stan did as he was told, the threat of blackmail apparently looming over his head as Mabel fixed him with a stern look that would put their Ma to shame. He was grateful for it though, as he stood watching the scene from afar.

The kids really were something. 

And Stan already seemed better for it, full of life, less pale and fading in the shadows of the room.

Set up in their small warm circle, full of music and light, a bubble to keep out the storm.

The only thought that left him cold was-

Where did he fit into all of this?

Ford shook himself, checking the door was closed and the room secure as he let their happiness and relief infect him from a distance.

It didn't matter where he fit into it all, he had brought them all down here and they had figured out how to make the best out of a bad situation.

He didn't want to ruin that, he could deal-

There was a small tug on the back of his trouser leg.

Ford blinked, turning around to find a sheepish Dipper who quickly latched on to his sleeve instead now that he had his attention.

"Come on, Grunkle Ford. Before Mabel finds a way to blackmail you too."

"I don't- I mean, I'm fine-"

"No, you're not."

Ford's mouth snapped shut with a ring, the boy's gaze hawkish and scrutinising.

"None of us are, but we can try and make it better, right?"

Ford gulped, not sure his mouth would obey him as he instead nodded and let himself be dragged to sit beside his brother, the two kids clambering onto the floor in front of them. 

"That's more like it!" Mabel beamed at them all, arms up above her head as they chuckled around her. "We've got music-" She gasped, hands clapping together. "It's like we're camping! We're all sat around the camp fire."

"I mean- it's definitely a heater, Mabel-"

"No, today it's a camp fire, and you know what that means! We should tell stories!"

"...That's actually not a bad idea."

"Of course it's not, Dipper. I come up with brilliant ideas."

Dipper grinned, sibling affection and rivalry sparking up as he sat there. "Oh yeah? Like the time you..."

Ford huffed out a laugh as the pair started up in earnest, bouncing back silly moments in their childhood when they'd both done remarkably reckless or ridiculous things. He could feel his brother chuckling beside him, body vibrating ever so slightly with amusement and Ford felt another coil of pain unwind slightly as his brother subconsciously rested against him, letting him ground him that much more from where he sat.

Ford felt his own happiness start to grow through the remnants of the earlier moments in the night, felt it spread warm and glowing through his chest as the influence of the storm was pushed further and further back into the dark recesses of the room.

It was warm, there was music filtering through as the stories began to flow in earnest.

And on a stormy cold night, he found he couldn't wish for better company.

 

* * *

 

The stories slowed to a soft hum of conversation.

There was never any silence, not with the music still crooning in the corner, shifting between Mabel's playlist and requests from the two others who seemed to put their embarrassment to one side in return for the comfort and amusement belting out the songs brought with them. But even then, there was always someone talking, whether it was Ford telling them about some strange, charming creature from across the expanse of the multiverse, or a wild ride of a story, filled with daring escapes and quick getaways from Stan, arms moving quickly as he captured those around him. 

Or even just the kids, telling them about the adventures they'd got up to when Stan was busy, the summer they'd had and the silly things they'd done before it all began that had the two elders chuckling away.

There was never a moment of quiet, to let the darkness seep back in, never a word left unsaid for the insidious whispers on the breeze to cut in edge ways and find a hold once more.

A safe haven.

Just them against the elements, together, safe and sound and keeping each other afloat whenever the storm tried to find an opening.

It was ironic really, the moment of hindsight.

The people he had tried not to tell- hopeful that it wouldn't affect them anywhere near as much as him, the ones he didn't want to burden with whatever fears and nightmares came crawling out of the woodwork to poison him- those people were the best possible medicine against it all. That all together they had a much better chance of weathering the storm than all alone.

Once he told them all, that is.

Once he let them in.

...It was funny how being alone for so long stopped you thinking about the possibility that maybe asking for help wasn't the worst option available.

Ford fidgeted where he sat as he thought back on it all, worrying his lip as he wondered how much smoother it all could have gone. But none of that mattered now, what was done was done, unfortunately, but at least some good had come of it.

They were alright, they were safe.

That was what mattered.

And there were more pressing matters that he felt needed to be addressed.

"Hey, Stan?" He leaned into his brother quietly, giving him a soft nudge as the two kids chattered before them unaware. He felt Stan tense ever so slightly, the smile on his face freezing there through force of will power and Ford felt some of his determination fade. "I- I don't want to fight, Stan. I just- wanted to say something, just- if that's alright?"

He waited, awkwardly hesitant as Stan turned thoughtful, still worried and tense but accepting and Ford struggled to quickly get the words out before they got lost again. "Thanks. I just, wanted to respond to- earlier." His mouth felt dry as sandpaper as Stan opened his. "Let me- please- this is hard enough without interruptions." He winced as Stan's mouth snapped shut again, his brother nodding and glancing back at his hands as he waited for the rebukes. "I didn't mean-" Ford sighed, flopping his head against him. "God, when did it get so hard to talk to you?"

There was silence for a moment, the kids talking away quietly in front of them, not quite enough to distort the anxious bubble now weaving around them. 

"I guess, I wanted to say, I probably have some things to apologise for too." Ford shook his head as Stan grumbled in disagreement. "I do- but that's not the main thing. I wanted to say- I am grateful."

Stan froze beneath his head, rock solid and cold as if the shock had turned him to stone.

"I mean- there's still- it's not that simple and I can't-"

"It's OK, Ford."

Ford growled, low and irritated at himself at Stan's accepting tone. "It's not though, is it?" He ran a hand through his hair, pulling himself up to stare at Stan full on, making sure they were eye to eye as he spoke.

"I can't say I'm grateful for everything, and there's a lot still hanging in the air around us. But there is something I can say, with absolutely no hesitation or remorse." He smiled, a strange mixture of a myriad of various emotions as Stan finally seemed to look at him properly at the words, curious and hopeful as he waited for Ford to finish.

Ford turned away from him, making sure his gaze followed his as they both found themselves watching the two exuberant kids.

"I'm grateful to have met the kids."

Stan chuckled, a soft, giddy sound that sounded far more at home than the early dark mirth. "They really are something special, aren't they?"

"Yeah." Ford's smile widened, sitting back to lean against Stan again as he did so. "They really are."

Silence reigned again between them, this time more comfortable, more open and affectionate as the kids squeaked and giggled before them.

"I guess that's not it, really though."

"Hmm?"

"I'm grateful for other things too- that is-"

"Ford."

Ford fell silent, Stan's soft utterance ringing with a finality he didn't know how to contend with.

"It's alright."

"I- I don't-"

"Don't worry about it." Stan clapped a hand around his back, giving him a tight squeeze of a hug before letting go again. "You don't have to say anything. And anything you do say, I won't blame you for tomorrow."

"I don't understand."

Stan's smile grew sadder, a shrug almost dislodging him from where he sat against him.

"I'm just saying. The storm's making us say things we wouldn't normally. I won't hold anything against you once it's all blown over."

Ford fell silent against him, heart once again lodged tight in his throat and cutting off whatever words he'd had left to say.

_I'm grateful to have seen you again too._

He nodded into Stan's shoulder instead, feeling Stan relax in the process and hated every second that his brother thought he didn't mean a word of it.

Hated how cold he felt now that Stan had pulled back from the hug, now that he had given him that affection for just a moment.

And all he could think was how much he wished Stan wasn't so accepting of the storm being the reason he wanted to reconcile.

And most of all he wished there was some way he could prove it.

 

* * *

 

The storm passed during the night, though none of them were exactly sure when it had happened.

Ford couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised as they found their way out of the basement in the late morning, not used to not knowing. 

The last time it had felt like a sudden lurch, a gasp of fresh air after drowning for hours in the murk. 

Finally free, finally escaping.

This time... it just felt peaceful, tranquil. Less an abrupt shift and more a sigh of relief. 

Their little safe haven had really done its job, keeping them from even noticing that the storm was breaking right above their heads while they holed themselves up, grounded themselves amidst stories and jokes and the warmth of a good friend to keep the world at bay.

He smiled softly as the mirth continued. He could hear the chirping, the squeals of delight from where he stood as he slowly made his way towards them. The front door was wide open, the bright blue sky above visible above the treeline as he saw his brother's back on the porch.

"Really, you two? You haven't had enough of this weather?"

Intrigued, Ford shuffled closer, peeking out of the doorway to see the sunlight reflecting off of a sodden mess of puddles that once was the front yard. It was muddy and grey, all that was left of the earlier storm, but somehow there was life to it too, green and brown mixed into to remind him that it had all passed and there was nothing to worry about any longer.

Not to mention the bright neon colours that darted passed as well, catching his attention.

Mabel squealed as Dipper jumped beside her, both clad in brightly coloured wellies and mismatched raincoats as they splashed and ran through the yard. They skidded and slid, covering themselves from head to toe in mud, rejoicing in the storms departure.

Ford couldn't help but laugh, a full belly rumble as the pair tried to launch themselves over Waddles, another family member absolutely content to bask in the mud that was their home now.

Stan turned to him, eyes filled with amusement. "You'd think they'd never played in puddles before."

"Yeah, well, I guess they have a vendetta against these puddles in particular."

Stan snorted, arms crossed as his face turned back to them. "Fair. Guess that's fair."

Ford nodded along with him, shuffling up beside him to watch the merriment. 

It was nice, a civil, content conversation with his brother.

He hoped he could make it a normal occurrence.

"Hey, Stan, do you think we could talk?"

Stan locked up again beside him, teeth gritting for a moment before he forced himself to unclench. "I stand by what I said yesterday, Si- Ford. I won't hold anything you said against you."

Ford shook his head fervently as his hand went to grip at Stan's sleeve. He hung his head as he felt Stan's eyes on him. "I did mean it though, that's what I wanted to say. I am grateful, in a way, even if I find it hard to say it."

Stan sighed, a long whistle of a noise that he wasn't sure what to make of.

"And- I need to know- what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Did you really mean it, when you said- about me being your brother."

Stan snapped to attention then, finally turning fully to him, eyes wide and shocked that Ford even had to ask. "Of course I did." He went to follow suit, gripping into Ford's sleeve before thinking better of it and slapping his arm with a clap instead and a sharp grin. "You're always gonna be my brother, nerd, no matter how mad I am at you. And I really shouldn't have said anything in the first place."

"I think there's a lot of things we both should never have said, don't you?"

Stan's face wobbled, nodding slowly with a bemused smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I can agree with that."

"Then I want you to know the same, Stan. You'll always be my brother." Stan's smile wobbled again and he turned back to looking out at the yard as Ford's face fell. Ford tugged at his arm, making sure he had his attention before he continued. "And... I don't want my brother to be a stranger anymore."

Stan blinked, turning back to him slowly, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. When nothing happened, his smile grew, beaming bright, lighting up his eyes with the pure shocked relief that was forming there. 

"I'd like to change that too."

Ford breathed in, letting all the air out in a steady hiss of relief. "Good. That's- I mean, should I ask again?" He nodded towards the open doorway, smile faint and nervous on his face. "Can we talk? Just talk for a bit and- get to know each other again?"

Before Stan could reply, there was a sudden shout from across the yard, one that had them both jolting into the present with a happy jump.

"Oh, for crying out loud! Will you two just hug it out already?!"

The pair of them grinned at one another as Stan gestured that he'd follow him in shortly.

Ford couldn't help but snort as he heard his brother's reply, heart elated at the knowledge that his plan had worked, that they had a long way to go but that maybe, just maybe they were making a start in healing old wounds and rebuilding the bridge between them once more.

"Baby steps, Mabel, baby steps."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun! I couldn't stop writing! There was just so much that could be explored with this!  
> Bonus 'ha I had a nightmare where I couldn't breathe at all' just as I got given the commission too and imagined it would work quite well in the story... ^^; hey at least it's good for writing <3


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